


One Crowded Hour

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 108,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Doctor? Why am I crying?"</i> An hour is missing from both of their memories and Rose is pregnant: the repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's a **non-con rating** on here: not for anything even remotely explicit but for suspicion, discussion, and consequences. As you might expect therefore, there are general trigger warnings across the story. If you need specifics, I have listed these triggers in more detail at http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/fic under the story description or message me privately on tumblr (allegoricalrose).

The funny thing about this unrequited love, Rose sighed while eying the Doctor set course for the vortex, was how much easier it was to deal with back when there was absolutely no hope of its requital.

When he was all leather and angry pain, her love toward him was warm and comfortable, like snuggling under a warm duvet after walking in the snow, like a bear hug after a long parting or stroking a sleeping cat by the fireplace. It was a steady and languid emotion, radiating through her chest and mind when he gave her a lazy smile and intensifying when he was hurt or vulnerable. Especially when he was vulnerable. That closed-lip smile, the false joviality, the rawness of his ice blue eyes…

But this new type of love with this new type of Doctor was searing and needy, clenching her chest in such a tight vise that she often found herself aware of the effort required for each inhalation in stark acuity, the need to dampen the jarringly loud and ragged exhalation. This love was swift and piercing, rocketing through her core and ricocheting through to her fingertips and toes at when she most and least expected it – when he distractedly stroked her thumb with hers while holding hands; when he ran his fingers through his wild hair; his eager expression when he discovered something new; at the discomfited bend of his head as he shuffled his trainers on the ground…

With a jolt, she was hurtled back to the present when she noticed he was doing that very action, catching her faraway stare at him. Realizing that he had already spoken her name several times to snag her attention and failed, she read concern in his face. With a slow outbreath through rigid lips, she schooled her expression into one of neutrality and met his eye. What the hell was wrong with her today? She didn’t usually slip into that intensity of daydreaming with him actually present…

“You’re still feeling alright?”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Same as five minutes ago when you asked.” Her exasperated smile softened. “Sorry, lost in my own little world there…”

The Doctor’s shoulders relaxed and his mouth curved into a slow smile while he scratched the back of his neck. “Quite alright, it’s been a long day. To say the least…”

\---

 

It _had_ been a long day, he sighed as he watched her idly kick her legs in the jump seat; he hoped it was idle excess energy and not a show of nonchalance. More worryingly, it had also been a short day, and to label his mindset as unsettled would be a laughing understatement.

He'd sensed her exhaustion, even if she wouldn’t admit it, after Krop Tor and her unsolicited election to judge and executioner. It was there in her eyes, glassy and slightly unfocused, and in the way she didn’t leave as she usually would while he fiddled under the console, assessing the damage to the TARDIS after her fall. He knew she had to be exhausted but still she remained, making an effort, he could tell, to be quiet and unobtrusive. So he held her hand and performed the only vaguely necessary repairs one-handed, her silent form saddled up close to his, and pushed back his own feelings of fatigue and something dangerously close to clinginess. He could be strong for her.

Because she was _his_ strength; the sun from whose orbit he couldn’t, wouldn’t, escape; his attachment and secure base. Had just admitted it to the devil.

_“I believe in her.”_

It was more too, of course it was more, but that part ( _that dangerous part_ ) he had to keep under control. Before it slipped out in a barely inhibited suggestion that she sleep in his bed that night, just to keep the literal demons away. Solace in skin and warmth and— Instead he’d snapped his jaw closed and clenched it for a long moment, as if the physical power of his muscles could stop his emotions from escaping when they were already seeping out of his pores, his eyes, his fingertips as they stroked hers.

As a pre-emptive strike against the re-surge of treacherous feelings he knew would occur when she squeezed his hand again, he had suggested she visit home for a week, relax and recover, and set course for a few days before Jackie’s birthday. He didn’t want to explore why he knew these domestic pieces of trivia about her. Didn’t want to admit that he reverently tucked away everything she said, even throwaway chatter.

Thrilled would not be a word he could have used to describe her reaction but she'd nodded without a word, slipping her soft fingers from his and plodding off to her room to pack. Duffel in hand, she’d returned a few minutes later, avoiding his own averted eyes. He’d promised her he would be back in a week, hurriedly adding the modifier that of course she could stay as long as she wanted, and held his breath for several minutes after the door closed behind her. All the oxygen seemed to follow in her wake like he wanted to do.

He had planned to throw himself into some big project while she was away, rewire the temporal gyrometer or seek out that elusive part for the hydrolic stabilisers on the landfill planet in Sector XVII. He could take a few weeks, a month even, time enough for his increasingly erratic hormones and autonomic activity to settle down; she’d be none the wiser thanks to the powers of his gorgeous time ship.

It had been only 21.44 hours before he’d given up and set course for Earth, a week after she left. The hours were longer, without her, and when she came running in the door he’d felt like a desert wanderer upon the sight of water.

He swallowed and clenched his fists, trying not to fall to his knees and cling to her legs when she stepped aboard. "Requests?" he'd squeaked instead, smiling broadly. He knew he wasn't succeeding in keeping the giddiness off his face or in the bouncing of his feet though and just went with it.

"Somewhere warm, it's cold in London this winter," she decided with a wide grin to match his, strolling over to his side. "The beach maybe?"

"Your wish…" he had quipped as he had raced to spin a dial and flick a lever dramatically. He had just the place, he'd thought, and it almost certainly wouldn’t have a black hole or a demon king.

 _Oh, no_ , he mused sardonically now, as he thought back, it certainly hadn’t been either of those…

A wardrobe change for Rose later, they were walking barefoot along a turquoise ocean, listening to the crash of giant waves and the high-pitched squeals of children. The scent of pineapple and coconut was strong, almost stronger than the salty tang of the sea, and mega-resorts and glistening marble hotels lined the beach as it they were guarding the shoreline.

“"It's like tropical Las Vegas," she'd breathed, bending down to scoop up a fistful of sand so white it had to be artificial and letting it slowly stream through her fingers. "Smell the air, isn't it gorgeous?" she gushed, inhaling deeply and spinning around in the sunshine.

"Honolulu. 4287. April, no, May," he'd deduced, licking his fingers and holding them up as if to check the wind direction. "And I'm pretty sure they're piping in that smell."

“Such a buzz kill, you are. Aren’t you warm?” she asked, nodding at his suit.

“That’s why I left my coat behind,” he retorted, rolling his eyes playfully. He slid his hands into his pockets and surveyed the scene, squinting at some teenage boys paddling their surfboards into the waves.

“You could at least take off your suit jacket, you look like an unhappy businessman forced to go outside on your Hawaiian conference meeting,” she snorted.

“And you, Miss Tyler,” he deflected, flicking his eyes up her lithe body before his brain kicked in, “er, look like you’re going to get a horrific sunburn, with all that skin…out. Come on, let’s get buy some protection.”

She smirked, her tongue between her teeth, slipping her arm into the crook of his and pulling him toward the row of shops, “Protection, huh?”

He felt a flush rise up his cheeks and suddenly his suit of armour did feel too hot. Suffocating, actually. “ _Sun_ protection, UVA and UVB block that is, you…oh, you’re joking. Right. Carry on. Tally-ho, pip-pip. Roger Dodger. Um, _on y va_ … Mmm, French, I like that one…”

It all became a little blurry then. He vaguely remembered flashing a credit stick at a street vendor and procuring a couple of brightly coloured beach towels. Something involving suncream. And then panic when he had opened his eyes after a rather heady dream to discover Rose had wandered off from where they’d reclined on the sand. He couldn’t see her anywhere, her towel and beach bag abandoned beside him. Cortisol and adrenaline surged through his veins even as he knew she must not be far and sprinted off to find his danger-happy companion, shoving the contents of her bag into his pockets as he ran. Following faint traces of her scent on the breeze, he remembered halting in front of a heavy-security steel door on the side of one of the smaller hotels where her scent suddenly disappeared.

And then nothing. Nothing for a terrifying hour.

His next memory was of standing above a squirming human male, his foot firmly against his back and his face twisted into an angry growl. The man was face down on the floor of a white, sterile space akin to a small warehouse, and his arms and legs were hog-tied behind his back with Luciq rope he’d recognized immediately as coming from one of the storage rooms on the TARDIS.

His first saccadic eye movement revealed two other men and one woman in similar bindings, dressed in expensive tailored suits and writhing helplessly on the floor. One of them was moaning loudly, the others were silent. He wondered, briefly, if they were victims or perpetrators, but had his answer almost instantly based on the rope they were tied up with (incidentally, he didn’t remember putting any Luciq rope into his pockets before they left, but perhaps he’d gone back for it?) and the fact that his weight was pressed dominantly onto the back of the burly man below his foot.

His second eye movement fell on Rose, huddled in a corner and sobbing. Her t-shirt was ripped across the collar, a button on her denim shorts was undone, and her previously ponytailed hair was tangled and sweaty. He could see tracks of inky mascara on either side on the hand she used to cover her face.

“Rose!” he yelled and was at her side faster than he’d ever moved in his life. He crouched down to her level and gently pulled her hand away from her face. “Rose, what happened, what…”

All at once her crumpled expression transformed, going from distraught to confused in the space of a millisecond. Her shoulders relaxed and she blinked and looked at him and then around the room in bewilderment.

“What? How…Where are we?” She raised her hand to her cheek, “Why am I crying? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, darkly eyeing her disheveled state and forcing himself to breathe. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Raising her hand to rub at her neck, she closed her eyes. “We were at the beach, um, you were sleeping, and I…Oh, I nicked your credit stick to buy us ice lollies, and just as I was heading back a man stopped me…” She flickered her eyes between the squirming men in the room and then pointed at the moaning one. “Him, I think, and then… It’s blank. Until just now, when you said my name.” She bit her lip, “You don’t remember anything either?”

“No,” he forced out, opening his mouth but quickly closing it again.

Their terse silence was interrupted suddenly by a storm of law enforcement officials swarming the room, guns poised and shouting orders to cease and desist. The Doctor sank to the wall next to Rose and raised his one hand in surrender, grasping her hand and squeezing hard with his other. They watched the scene with stunned detachment, like a scene on the telly, as the team slapped handcuffs on the bound-up men and woman and hauled them out of the room, not bothering to un-tie them.

A tall officer had wandered over to where they were watching, agape. “Are you the Doctor?” he asked, his voice steady and commanding.

“That’s me,” he’d confirmed, dazed. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Thanks for the tip,” the officer continued, “you’ve led us to the biggest crime ring in the United Empire of America. These bastards do it all: kidnapping, black market adoption rings, money laundering, even illegally exporting, if you can believe it in this day and age.”

The Doctor slowly nodded with a puckered brow, just as much in the dark as before. “And you say I…called you?”

“Yup, thanks; my superior officer is going to be gutted she missed this!” He paused. “Are you two alright? Any injuries? I can have an ambulance dispatched.”

His double pulse was throbbing in his ears as he whipped his neck to study Rose. “Are you, um, I mean, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He knew his eyes betrayed not a little amount of terror and desperation as she stiffly moved her limbs and cataloged her pains, but apart from general muscle aches, the beginnings of a few bruises and a fading headache, she had found nothing particularly remiss and had waved away the official.

The Doctor waited until the puffed up man veritably skipped away, the officer grinning as he patted down one of the stretched-out culprits. He turned back to Rose, taking a deep breath. “Rose…Are you sure? You don’t remember anything else, or…you’re not in pain anywhere else? Your clothes…”

She fingered her torn t-shirt, not meeting his eye, adjusting the remaining material so she was better covered up and buttoning up her cut-offs. “I know what you’re getting at,” she finally said quietly, “but I don’t think…I don’t think anything happened. I think I would know, right?”

He swallowed. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. _Damn it!_ I don’t know.” Her eyes widened at the vehemence in his voice and he schooled his voice into a calmer tone. “You’re probably right, but I want check you over with the bioscanner when we get back to the TARDIS.”

“'K,” she mouthed but no sound came from her lips.

He forced a reassuring smile but he suspected it looked more like a grimace. “I also need to figure out why we don’t have any memories of the last, oh, hour and a bit. Do you remember any syringes, drugs, loud flashing machines with pink and green lights?”

She shook her head and then scrunched up her face at the effects of those movements on her headache. The Doctor rolled his eyes up into his skull, trying to organise and analyse what he found there.

“Me neither,” he sighed. “They must have wiped our memories with something, but I can’t find any traces of anything foreign. It’s not a Retcon. An early version of Hippex, maybe, or some other hippocampal inhibitor…”

Rose closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder; he wrapped his arm around her gingerly. Squeezing her hand, he watched as the last of the four figures was carried out of the room. The law enforcement officer stumbled when the bound man abruptly twisted his body and met the Doctor’s eye. Such a lascivious smirk passed his lips that the Doctor felt nausea rise up throat and quickly looked down at the limp human in his arms, tugging her closer protectively.

When the room was empty and the humming of the florescent lights grew oppressive, he had gently pulled her to standing and mutely made for the TARDIS at a swift pace. Once outside Rose seemed to perk up, chattering inanely about the beaches and the warm weather but the Doctor was uncharacteristically quiet, only humming occasionally in response. Once inside he had wordlessly directed their path to the infirmary with a gently but firm hand just above the small of her back.

He didn’t say anything until he had passed the bioscanner over her twice, scanning for traces of foreign human DNA and tissue tearing as well as chemical traces of a foreign drug or substance that could have caused their memory loss. She thankfully didn’t speak or ask questions as he worked, sensing the urgency and desperation of his movements. It wasn’t until the second analysis insisted that everything was fine that he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His muscles slackened from relief and he had to clutch at the table ledge to keep upright. He was almost hysterical as he swept her into his arms, burying his face into her neck.

“Everything’s normal,” he mumbled into her skin. Slowly he lifted his head to meet her gaze but didn’t loosen his grip around her waist. “You’re fine, you…Oh, god, Rose, you could’ve…” He closed his eyes against the darkness he could feel crouching in the corners of his mind and tightened his embrace.

“I’m okay, you said so, everything’s good,” she murmured reassuringly, reaching up to rub his back.

Of course it was her was comforting him, he’d thought, and reluctantly released her from his strong grip. He cleared his throat, trying to channel the emotionally detached Time Lord he was supposed to be. “No traces of any memory drugs though, I’m not sure why…Something must have caused our memory loss, especially since we both lost the same amount of time, give or take…”

“Something new?” she suggested.

“Maybe…” he mused, doubtfully, but then shrugged, trying to lift the mood. “Suppose we’ll find out someday, and if we don’t it’s clearly not important.”

“True,” she agreed and broke into a genuine smile. “Not quite the relaxing beach day I was picturing though. We’ll just add that to the list of trips you owe me.”

\---

In a playfully gallant movement he bounced over to her now, offering up his hand and pulling her to standing from the jump seat: he’d been a little giddy once the infirmary confirmed nothing unusual, like relief after pain. He swooped down to gather up her jumper from the floor where it had slid sometime in her reverie and deposited it back in her hand.

“Thank you, Sir Doctor” she drawled in response and he waved her off grandly, a smile escaping his mock solemnity.

“Might I suggest that my Dame Rose retire to her chambers for her required sleep regime,“ he over-enunciated, drawing out the syllables of the lighthearted script they had fallen into.

Her chest tightening traitorously at the possessive phraseology despite the pretense, she nonetheless bowed lugubriously and dramatically swept her arm across the air, wincing a little at the pain those movements recapitulated her head. She made to move toward her room, but the Doctor stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Do you still have a headache?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, it’s not too bad really, I’m sure it will feel better once I lay down… “ She paused to reconsider, “I think I’ve got some paracetamol in my room…”

The Doctor did some calculation and then his eyes lit up, reaching into his coat pocket and proffering a couple of futuristic pills.

“I’m still not entirely sure what they used on us, but I doubt cyclooxygenase inhibition would do any good- this analgesic ought to do it though.”

Rose looked warily at the pills but then shrugged and held out her hand, trusting the Doctor’s judgment and not especially wanting a further ramblingly esoteric explanation. Popping them in her mouth and washing them down with the glass of water that had conveniently appeared on a nearby coral strut, she thanked him and bid her goodnights.

Glancing over her shoulder as she headed toward the corridor, she was a little surprised when she was met with the Doctor still watching her instead of going back to his tinkering. A smile slowly slid up her face as they held comfortable eye contact for a few seconds. She crossed her arms loosely and leant casually on the entry wall.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow? Safe, quiet little planet without a vendetta for our brains?” She smiled cheekily, her tongue drifting to the side of her lips.

He snorted merrily at that and beamed playfully back at her, his eyes snapping so quickly down to her protruding tongue that she dismissed it as a flight of imagination.

“You never know, Rose Tyler,” he pronounced mirthfully, “tomorrow could be that day!”

She rolled her eyes comically at him with another smile before pivoting on one heel and heading for her bedroom.

“Night, Doctor”.

She had only taken a few steps into the corridor when she heard him call out to her in a tone she couldn’t quite decipher, so soft that she wasn’t quite sure he wanted her to hear it.

“Rose---“

She turned around anyway, raising an eyebrow inquisitively when he didn’t say anything for few seconds and just stood there unmoving with his arms awkwardly by his side, body clearly poised to move. His face finally relaxed in resolve and he cleared his throat before ambling across the console room with a casual grin.

“Mmm?” she enquired, but rather than elaborating he enveloped her in a fierce hug. It was perfectly innocent, still-limbed and appropriately brief, but he kept hold of one hand on her upper arm as he pulled back and met her slightly bemused but pleased gaze. It was unclear whether he was even aware of the leisurely circles his fingers drew on her arm and shoulder blade as he finally spoke.

“Just… I’m glad you're alright. And I’m glad you’re back: I missed you while you were at your mum’s.”

His voice was soft and sincere, without any of his usual aggrandised cadence, and combined with the intensity of his eye contact she was compelled to break eye contact when she felt a flush spread across her cheeks. Not yet trusting the strength of her vocal cords to overcome the constriction in her airways, she met his eyes again and allowed her lips to turn up an unchecked, unhurried smile that he immediately matched in response.

“Same, Doctor.”

An eternity or a millisecond later, however, she was unable to halt the impulse to slide her gaze down to his hand on her arm, and following her eye’s movement his fingers stilled, hastily releasing her from his grip and shoving his hands in his pinstriped pockets. He rocked slightly on his toes and mumbled something involving good night.

She bit her lip as she finally passed through the automatic parting door into her room and sunk back on the rough coral wall. Blowing out a ragged breath she sulked that it had been so much easier before he had revealed in a dark hospital that he did indeed dance… Before he had changed into his current tactile and unintentionally flirty body. Before the warm, tender love tangled with the achy, needy white-hot love that raced mercilessly through her veins.

\---

It wasn’t just his involuntary glance at the peeking of her tongue through her lips that she missed. She also missed the way his eyes remained glued to her, despite his best efforts, as she turned and walked away. And the way his lower lip jutted out to direct his prolonged exhalation upwards, blowing his fringe around softly as he fought to rein in his perfidious emotions.

Raising his eyes upward to inwardly compute, he selected fatigue and probably that memory loss drug as scapegoats for his unnatural emotional turmoil (disregarding the fact that he couldn’t really use that excuse for the entire past year she’d been aboard) and decided a few hours sleep was really the best solution.

Lumbering down the corridor deep in recriminate thought, he failed to notice, or at least desperately tried to ignore, his feet choosing to lead him the long way to his bedroom. It was deliberately tucked away in the deepest bowels of the ship and rarely used, making it almost plausible that he might get disoriented along the way. Almost.

Not at all.

Just as he suspected he would before he even left the console room, he wavered in front of Rose’s door, attempting to rationalize that there was no telling the effects of their memory loss today, that she might be worried or anxious about the day’s events, that it would only be responsible to check on her…

Sighing and cursing his Time Lord self-awareness, he told himself to move on, to go to bed. His legs didn’t exactly follow that anemic directive, but knowing they eventually would, he relented, allowing himself to stay frozen in longing stasis for the time being.

Dopamine had fortified its ravishing army through his bloodstream, its relentless drumming of desire pounding a cacophonous litany in time with his pulse. _Want, want, get, go_. The qualia of human experience was admittedly unknowable to his Time Lord mind, but he resentfully suspected that having two hearts pumping neurochemicals through his brain doubled the rise time and amplitude of such…er… motivations. Closing his eyes, he fought to normalise the dopaminergic surge but largely failed. Strangely enough, his lectures on physiological regulation at the Academy didn’t cover this…

If this had been simple sexual desire it wouldn’t have been a problem. In fact, this _(not unsubstantial)_ component was the least of his worries: the issue at hand was not his craving to be cradled by her lithe thighs as he planted kiss after open-mouthed kiss languishingly down the side of her neck, starting just below her right earlobe and descending slowly until he made it to the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting down softly and sucking and marking her as _his_ and next laving the bite with swirling motion of his tongue as she arched below him, her hips seeking friction and brushing against—

He shook his head sharp enough that his ears rang, trying to expunge his piteous little fantasy from its tyrannical rein in his mind’s eye. _Where did that come from?_ He usually had at least moderate control of this kind of daydream.

No, it wasn’t the sexual desires that concerned him, he told himself: being the last of a species was bound to, er, thrust certain biological imperatives into the light. These he could deal with, knew _(hoped)_ he had enough self-regulation to keep those at bay or at least from becoming more than fantasies. He'd done so most of his long life.

It was another set of desires entirely that was flooding his reward circuitry tonight _(and every night and every day and every minute and every second)_. The vivid and taboo set of longings that included crawling into bed next to Rose and drawing her sleep-laden limbs to tangle with his own.

To seek benediction in the smell buried in the downy hair at the base of her neck.

To achieve absolution through kissing her forehead as he drifted asleep.

To hear the liturgy of unspoken words as he woke to her soft breath on his fingers where he had clutched her close in the night, tight enough that he won’t lose her. He'll never lose her.

He knew at that moment that he would give up time and space just to brush her hair back from her face as she opened her dreamlogged eyes and met his. To take comfort and solace in each other, for her to love him as much as he—

The Doctor swallowed hard, clenching his hands within his pockets and backing away from her door that was a lot closer than it had been a few minutes ago. Closing his eyes, he forcefully reminded himself of the difference between wanting and getting, of dopamine and opioids, that the white hot desire constricting his chest and throat didn’t necessarily connote that he wouldn’t regret giving into their temptation.

With time bent to his whimsy, the Doctor was cursed to see all that had ever existed and all that ever would exist, playing out at the same instance. Everyone he's ever met— unborn and alive and dead, all at the same time. 

Rose was already dead, he reminded himself and finally turned, continuing onward to his room. She'd been dead for billions of years and she'd never existed for billions more. Her— _all_ their lives were so fleeting. Shorter than a breath, shorter than a single heartbeat in his entire lifetime.

It was like falling in love with a lightening bolt.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor woke with a jolt as a flash of corridor light hit his face and just as quickly disappeared with a click of his bedroom door. Before he could wrap his groggy mind around that event, he felt his duvet lift, his mattress sag and a warm, flannel-clad body crawl into his bed and curl itself around his prone form. 

Wide awake now, he cautiously turned his head to see a sleeping Rose shift and languorously stretch out across his body, pressing herself deep into his side with a quiet hum. He lay still as a statue, barely breathing at this _wildly_ unusual turn of events. Not once his entire time travelling the stars had a companion located his bedroom; he couldn’t actually remember an instance of another person _ever_ stepping foot inside. And here she was, waltzing into his bed and under the sheets, like she’d only popped out momentarily for a drink or something before crawling back into bed with her lover. He swallowed. 

His first thought was that he was still asleep, still dreaming that dangerous and recurring dream, until he realised that it was, in fact, Rose who was dreaming. 

Sleepwalking, a relatively common side effect of those pain pills he had given her earlier. _Ah_. 

His face relaxed into a tender smile and he barely suppressed the urge to brush her hair away from her eyes as he moved his hand to gently shake her shoulder. Her eyes remained firmly shut, his touch only prompting another nuzzle into his side. 

“Rooose,” he whispered softly, trying to rouse her gradually rather than startle her awake, but she only moaned and snuggled in closer to him, rotating her hips slightly and inserting one leg on top of and one between his own. Her leg began rhythmically sliding along his own.

Oxytocin production ramped up in his posterior pituitary gland and he struggled to keep it from getting as far as his spinal cord; he couldn't allow his rusty sexual arousal cycle to creak into action. _Reflexive, reflexive,_ he tried to remind himself. He cleared his throat, its sound jarring even to his own ears, but still she remained deep asleep, her left arm curled around his chest. 

He began to sit up, to end this spectacle before he gave into something very unwise indeed, but two thoughts waved to attention in his mind before he got very far. Firstly, that Rose would probably be quite embarrassed at finding herself being extracted forcefully from his body and bed, sleepwalking or not, and he didn’t particularly want to cause her that distress. And secondly, that it had been a terrifying day, full of uncertainties and blank spaces, torn clothing and…. If skin-to-skin contact soothed some of those fears, who was he to deny her comfort? He may not deserve the comfort of her embrace, but she certainly did. If a side effect was that such consolation was two-way, eking away at his black hole of distress…well, he’d endure it. For her.

He neither moved closer nor increased the distance between them but he forced his tense and ready-to-flee muscles to relax against her warm body. Setting his internal alarm clock for an hour, he closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep. He would just carry her back to her room before she woke up, never the wiser to her midnight perambulations and what she would likely deem atrocious or at least cringe-worthy indiscretions on her own part. 

Those indiscretions resulting in, by far, the best hour he had spent in that nightmare-ridden bed for years. Perhaps ever.

\------

When she bounced into the console room late the next morning with their ritual tea and toast, he matched her grin and silently praised himself on his chivalrous decision the previous night. 

“Sleep well?” he queried casually.

“Mmm,” she mumbled with a satisfied groan, her mouth full of sticky toast. He wanted to lick the spot of jam off her chin. _Wait, what?_ “Wonderful,” she said after chewing, “Headache’s all gone too, those pills were great.” 

He was inclined to agree, but only smiled indulgently and set course for a planet with a galaxy-renowned theme park to make up for their stressful day previously. He may or may not have extensively researched the ideal date and place for a guaranteed danger-free visit. This may or may not have resulted all the thrill rides being closed for the day. Or it was just a coincidence, he muttered under his breath when they saw the sign at the front entrance. Luckily there was still plenty to do with the plethora of acrobatics acts, swan boats, and gondola rides.

They were both a little giddy as they ran through the park like children, sampling every type of sweet and screaming at the costumed actors in the haunted house. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, partially in a strangle intense desire to keep her from wandering off, but there was no need: they barely let go of each others’ hands the entire day. 

Rose giggled madly as the Doctor worked his way through his unlimited credit stick determined to win her the giant stuffed banana at the ring-tossing booth; her unfettered joy was intoxicating and he had to keep those peals of laughter coming, each one accompanied by a metaphorical ‘ding!’ in his reward circuitry. Accidentally looping his ring around the grand prize bottle, he felt his chest puff up a bit as a colossal six-foot brown teddy bear with a bow tie was passed over the booth to Rose. Lifting it high above her head (a difficult undertaking) in triumph, and then onto the Doctor’s shoulders like an oversized child, they made their way back to the TARDIS laughing giddily, filling up Rose’s arms with carnival sweets and popcorn along the way.

He wasn’t ready for their day to end once they stepped back aboard his ship and suggested a movie, so they spent the rest of the evening each curled up against the arm of the love seat in the media room ( _hadn’t that been a full-sized sofa?_ ) with their carnival snacks ensconced between them. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the screen but he watched her every movement in his periphery. The twitching of her toes, the clenching of her fingers on her blanket at the tense scenes, the wrinkling of her nose at simple communicative misunderstandings: she was far more entertaining than whatever 21st century costume drama she’d insisted on.

As the credits rolled, she stood up. “Bed time,” she said, yawning and stretching her still mildly achy limbs.

He stood up himself, mirroring her stretching exaggeratedly to make her laugh. She did. It was glorious. He kept his expression was playful but a shot of worry surged through his brain when she absently rubbed at an ache in her arm.

She seemed to hesitate for a second and then pulled him into a quick hug. “Night, Doctor. Thanks for a great day.” Nocturnal pre-slumber hugs: he could get on board with that. 

Picking up her new teddy bear from the sofa where he had joined them, she hauled it over her shoulder as she made for the door. “Come along, bed buddy,” she sing-songed at the plush. Something dangerously akin to jealousy flooded his neurons. 

“Night, Rose,” he murmured, his words distant and surprisingly soft. 

\---

He retired to his room shortly after she did, shaking his head at the idea of needing sleep two nights in a row. His brain must still be recovering from that memory loss drug, or whatever it was. Hopefully the extra sleep would help reconstruct the missing hours, but it was doubtful. 

He woke to Rose slipping under his covers for a second time, molding her body loosely around his. The Doctor couldn’t help a wry smile passing his lips and he loosely draped his arm on her shoulder while he considered the current situation. He was a little perplexed that the side effects from that pain pill could stretch out into a second night, but he supposed it was possible: he was certainly more tired than usual, maybe it was down to the memory inhibitor. He lifted her hand off his chest and carefully licked the inside of her wrist: he detected nothing anything unusual for a sleeping human in her neurochemical patterns. Maybe slightly elevated oxytocin levels, but then she was currently cuddled up next to him, so… 

He should just pick her up again and bring her back to her own bed, but it was so blissful, nestled together under his thick duvet. And she smelled so good, he bemoaned as he bent his nose down to rest in her hair…What was that scent? He should bottle it; bathe in it. Just a few more minutes. It would be rude not to... 

Humming contentedly, he found himself idly pressing his lips against her hair, and then her hairline. Continuing to breathe in her warm scent, he marveled briefly at his lack of self-recrimination, but pushed that thought along to simply bask in the all-too-fleeting moment. 

Self-recrimination finally reared its ugly head when one of his kisses drifted a little too close to her neck and she emitted a light moan. _What the hell was he doing?_ Panicked, he slipped himself hurriedly out from around her and bolted out of the bed into the armchair across the room like a spooked horse. 

Clenching his fist so hard that the nails started to poke through a layer of skin, he shook his head back and forth as though he could dislodge his lapse in judgment from existence. She’s _asleep_ , he berated himself, what he was doing was tantamount to… well, he didn’t know what, forced snuggling… Whatever it was, she was not an active or even willing participant, and truthfully neither was he in the harsh light of day. He was never going to let anything actually happen between them, regardless of how much he knew we wanted it; she was dead and never existed and he was supposed to be old enough to be responsible and… 

She was a child, _a child_ , he excoriated himself. A child who had lived barely 2% of the years he had been alive. He couldn’t let himself get carried away in fantasy and hope yet again, regardless of that smile, those plump lips and wild heart. 

Regeneration should have dampened these feelings if it was simple attraction; lust rarely survived cellular rebirth. But love? Love was fixed; love crossed incarnations and timelines, twisting itself around his very genomic structure and duplicating synchronously with all three strands. 

Slamming close an iron door on this line of dangerous emotion, he resolutely hauled himself up and crept back over to the bed. It didn't matter if it was love or lust; his hearts were crackling tinder and she was wildfire. He couldn't survive the vicissitudes of her flames. It was better to stand back and admire her flickering power and illustriousness, to stay detached, than to grasp the fire and burn. He mentally chanted the lessons from his previous body's Tibetan retreat, shortly before he first met her.

" _Grasping at things can only yield one of two results: Either the thing you are grasping at disappears, or you yourself disappear. It is only a matter of which occurs first."_

Attachment always led to suffering: life, especially his life, was defined by transience and clinging to objects or things was only a selfish and primitive avoidance of pain and a possessive quest for single-minded pleasure. Staying un-attached dampened those heated urges, allowed him to see the universe from a cool distance rather than tangled up in its small-scale and ultimately futile emotions. 

His heartbeat began to decelerate and his breathing calmed. Gathering her up clinically and as detached as possible into his arms, he strode to her room and carefully tucked her back into her own bed. Without a backward glance he quietly closed her door and stomped to the console room for some meditative tinkering: he knew there was no way in hell he was going back to sleep tonight.  
\---

Rose wasn’t sure what was going on with the Doctor the next morning. They’d had such a great day yesterday, and now he was being all…distant. Not cold, exactly, but like he’d erected an extra layer in his protective wall. Probably got too close yesterday with all the hugging and laughing and lack of life-or-death adventure, she thought dolefully. _Modus operandi_ with that one… Sighing, she didn’t press him, knowing he would work himself out of this mood and things would be back to normal in a day or two. 

They didn’t leave the vortex the whole day, the Doctor mumbling something about urgent repairs (she doubted it greatly) and cloistering himself under the console with a mound of tools, his screwdriver between his lips. Taking the hint, Rose spent the day catching up on her nail varnishing, eyebrow plucking, and other niceties that she rarely had time for between adventures. When those were all complete and she had even tidied up her room (but pointedly ignored her bulging laundry basket- the washing machine on the TARDIS was too complicated for her to figure out alone), she took to wandering the infinite halls of the ship, investigating new rooms as she ambled by. 

After another hallway of storage closets, though, she lost interest and headed back to the console room by way of the galley with the cunning plan of offering the Doctor tea. She knew he’d probably decline distractedly if she offered to make some for them both, but if she came in with two cups, he’d be hard pressed to refuse. 

But while he accepted his teacup gratefully, he only took a couple of sips before heading back under the console, the cup hovering precariously near his feet. Sighing, she rescued the cup and spent the rest of the day catching up on 21st century telly in her bedroom. A solitary dinner and a shower later, she donned her pajamas and padded out to the console room to wish the Doctor goodnight, but he didn’t even roll out from under the console, just grunting goodnight back to her. Dejected, she slid into her covers, contemplating whether she was really too old to bring the giant teddy bear into bed with her.

\---

Stiff necked and aching limbs a few hours later after she bid him goodnight, the Doctor dragged himself out from his hiding sp—the console and rubbed his eyes. Contemplating that he didn’t especially need sleep but was physically exhausted and aching from being under the console all day, he stopped by the library en route to his bedroom. Shutting his door, he hesitated but then locked it, nodding to himself resolutely. It was unlikely she’d sleepwalk a third night in a row, but just in case, he wasn’t sure he could go through that again. It hurt too much, on too many different levels, and he needed to remain detached.

He was surprised to find his eyelids getting heavy after a couple of hours of reading but shrugged and turned off the light, setting his glasses on the nightstand. Light streaming through his simulated window woke him up four hours later, a fleeting headache pounding from too much sleep. With a sigh of relief after he glanced at the empty sheets beside him, he stretched his arms and lazily made his way to his shower, whistling a long-forgotten tune. 

Clean and fresh-suited, he opened his door and turned to make his way towards the galley only to stumble over a substantial object on the floor in front of him. To his horror, Rose was curled up in a ball in front of his doorframe, an arm over her head and breathing heavily. He crouched down and gently uncovered her face, surprised to see she was sound asleep. Frowning, he calculated in his head: he had slept for seven hours and she had gone to bed hours before him. Shaking her gently, sure that she had to at least be close to waking, he was met with no response. Any modicum of peace he'd felt upon waking vanished, replaced by a thumping heart and cortisol's jolt. He lifted her into a fireman’s hold and walked quickly with her to the infirmary, biting the inside of his cheek: there was probably nothing wrong but he’d feel better once he was 100% sure.

He gently deposited her on the examination table and started pawing through his storeroom of medical equipment, determined to figure out once and for all what was going on with her. Something must have happened in those missing hours the other day; that pain medication wouldn't have had such prolonged effects. Clenching his jaw, he hauled out every type of scanner he owned but each reported the same results: normal. The hormone assay came back slightly unusual but entirely within the normal limits, especially given that she was still asleep. Even her melatonin and adenosine levels were on target. There was nothing that should be causing the need for this much sleep or sleepwalking. 

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief but also of frustration. Even though all the tests claimed otherwise, he was still unsettled. Chewing his thumb, he mulled over the other possibilities for her sudden sleepwalking, but he hadn’t gotten far when Rose finally began to stir on the table. 

He knew she would be disoriented and didn’t want her to fall off the table thinking she was still in her much larger bed, so he quickly strode over to her side, placing himself in her eye line as she groggily opened her eyes.

She squinted at the Doctor, furrowing her eyebrows and looking around as she sat up. “What… Why are we in the infirmary?”

“I found you in…in the corridor just now,” he explained, still not entirely willing to divulge where exactly in the hall she’d been huddled up. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you weren’t waking up…” He tried to adopt a calm clinical tone, but couldn’t quite keep the anxiety out of his words. “How are you feeling?” 

Blinking her eyes with a muddled look, he watched her gently shake her arms, legs, and neck, testing for aches and pains. She shrugged her shoulders with a smile, the sleep finally evaporating from her brain, “Fine, great even. Huh. I must have been sleepwalking? My mum said I did that when I was younger. And I’m a deep sleeper; must have just been in the middle of a dream or something…”

The Doctor exhaled heavily: there was a history, she was fine. It just happened to be him she stumbled on these last few nights. It wasn’t that surprising, really, especially given her emotional turmoil two days ago. As a child she had probably unconsciously headed for her mother’s room for comfort, now she made for the only other person on board the TARDIS. Didn’t exactly explain how she found his room, down in the bowels of the ship. He closed his eyes and reached through his link to his old girl, enquiring if she'd played a role in guiding Rose down the maze or corridors these last few nights. He was answered with an affirmative emotion and he shot a feeling of gratitude her way. Of course she’d direct her beloved passenger somewhere safe; it wouldn’t do to have Rose fall into the swimming pool or accidentally fiddle with the settings in the console room. 

Wait, how long had she been sleepwalking on the TARDIS? When Jack was here? Adam? 

Shaking his head to rid himself of that line of thought, he broke into a wide smile and folded her in a crushing hug before he thought the better of it. Not that hugging was an unusual occurrence, more like the intensity of his relief. Oh well, done now. His grin didn’t fade away as he helped her off the examination table and bounced around the room closing up shop. 

Rose watched her over-protective alien with amusement for a minute _(not hers)_ before excusing herself to get dressed. 

“Don’t take too long, Rose Tyler, we’ve got places to go…”

“Inter-galactic wars to start…” she finished with a grin.

“Ohhh, not today we don’t,” he warned good-naturedly, “today we’re… well, I’m not sure yet. But I’ll think of something brilliant. Somewhere brilliantly non-violent. Just in case.”

Rose rolled her eyes, but was so glad that he was out of yesterday’s mood that she didn’t protest. It was, admittedly, strange that she had ended up in the hall last night; she couldn’t remember another incidence of sleepwalking since she was a little kid. She mentally shrugged as she pulled on jeans and a textured white t-shirt. Weird but not a big deal. Based the vague snippets of her dream that she could remember, she was grateful that at least she hadn’t wandered into the Doctor’s bed…


	3. Chapter 3

Obviously their ‘peaceful’ trip turned into a vaguely perilous adventure, as did a few others in the days that followed, despite the Doctor’s best attempts. The Doctor himself wasn’t entirely clear why he was suddenly so zealously compelled to keep Rose safe and tried to suppress his over-protective urges as much as possible. It wouldn’t do to make her cranky; she always was when she thought he was sheltering her from something. Still a little cross about that whole Emergency Program One incident, he suspected. 

His panic thresholds were, of course, more sensitive to every single one of Rose’s arm rubs and subtle winces of her back as signs of doom, but coming up with only a slightly elevated incidence rate of distracted lower back kneading (that he kept track of these things she probably didn’t want to know), even he had to admit he was acting a little crazy.

The memory loss was a frustrating mystery, to be sure, and Rose’s determined sleepwalking was out of the ordinary, but neither of them had suffered any serious ill effects from the memory block and the sleepwalking hadn’t made another appearance. And anyway, _two_ sets of trusty state-of-the-art 97th century medical technology had confirmed there was nothing amiss with Rose, that nothing horrible had happened to her, and to be honest he wasn’t sure why he was fixating so much on that isolated incident more than a week ago.

And he really had filed away the incident in his ‘resolved’ box by the time of their present trip to Thabenii. Their extremely short-lived trip when the locals had attached their names to those of a plague-infested troupe of pole dancers. It was only a short dash back to the TARDIS, luckily, and they fell down on the grating inside laughing as the door closed. Standing up finally, the Doctor pulled Rose into their traditional ‘danger’s over’ celebration hug but froze suddenly in her grasp when a whiff of something he didn’t expect reached his olfactory cortex. 

Perplexed, Rose pulled back a little, glancing around the TARDIS for danger and then looking at the Doctor, confused.

“Doctor?”

He stared at her glassy eyed, searchingly, for an uncomfortable two or three seconds before drawing her tightly back into the hug. His body was still rigid, but she relaxed a little when she felt his nose rest on top of her head. Was he _smelling_ her? She reminded herself that it didn’t mean anything coming from him. She probably smelled of banana or jam or something: her shampoo _was_ new and fruity…

“Rose?” he choked out, still wrapped around her and clutching more tightly than before. “I…umm… Are…”

Giggling, Rose extracted herself gently and stepped back from the stuttering alien. “Noticed my new shampoo huh? Raspberry something I think: remember, you picked it out at that market stall on Charsh? Extensive smell testing involved?”

Interestingly, the Doctor still seemed unnerved and didn’t answer but a mystifying look of relief ( _…maybe? Resignation?_ ) passed over his eyes as she spoke. Rose inwardly rolled her eyes, suspecting that there was still something else bothering him and that the shampoo guess had simply provided him with a deflection. 

"Yes, that must be it," he mumbled as he released his tight grip.

She watched him, wary, as he dematerialized the TARDIS in a daze and then sunk down on the jump seat, clearly trying to work something out and looking everywhere but at her eyes. Curious, she turned away from him, just enough that she could see him in her peripheral vision, and indeed his eyes snapped over to her. By the time she turned back to look at him, his eyes were already staring vacantly into space. 

Rose sighed. Determined not to endure yet another Distant-Doctor evening, she decided to try and head off this foul mood at the impasse. She walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Doctor? Are you alright?” Her tone was light.

He nodded once in response, but his eyes remained unfocused and in some sort of stupor. She moved herself to force eye contact but was startled at the emotion in the Doctor’s eyes when their eyes finally connected. It was something akin to how a fearful little boy might pleadingly look at his mother. Struck mute at the vulnerability and bewilderment he was exuding, she stopped herself just in time from stroking his cheek in comfort or ruffling his hair. 

Probably berating himself for the hug or hair smelling, she sighed: his power of internal condemnation for breaches in his hyper-conservative moral code was unsurpassed. Her touching him, or even consoling him verbally, was likely the last thing that would help. Besides, she had no idea as to the source of his panic and clearly he wasn't going to tell her.

“Great!” she finally chirped as genuinely as she could manage. “I’m starving, how about spag bol for dinner?” She hoped part of this was simply hunger: he always got a little cranky near dinnertime, she thought fondly.

Thankfully the Doctor seemed to come back to himself a little at that, giving her a half smile and flicking his eyes between Rose and the console in a dizzying round of saccadic tennis. 

“Sounds lovely. I’m just going to calibrate the, um…hypertemporal galviniser first,” he replied, looking pleased with his quick thinking. “I’ll meet you in the galley in 5 minutes. If you start the water boiling for the pasta and start chopping up some carrots and onions, really small, I’ll whip up a pot of my universally famous lamb ragu sauce.”

Happy he was at least trying to be normal (and more than a little excited to taste his cooking; it was a rare thing), she ignored the shifty ricochet of his eyes between her and the console again. Grinning and nodding in acquiescence, she turned and bounced away toward the galley, knowing she was playing into his usual deflection techniques but deciding to just keep the peace for now. 

\---

The second Rose was out of sight the Doctor darted over to the console and roughly swung the control screen to face him. He impatiently stabbed his fingers at settings on the touchscreen, needing to confirm as soon as possible what his sensitive sensory organs were telling him but at the same time dreading the answer. The scan took only a minute, but he didn’t inhale a breath the entire time, too tense to even bother engaging his respiratory bypass. 

**Rose Tyler  
Full body scan in progress; Pregnancy**

**_Positive_ **

He sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed his eyes closed, tilting his head back and massaging the back of his neck. It was a few minutes before he opened them again, reading the finer details at the side of the screen. 

**Blastocyte implanted; embryogeneis 2% complete.**

There was no way Rose could be aware of it, the egg had just been implanted this morning, maybe last night. Explained why he wasn’t even aware of it until now; he could only sense neurochemical changes in her once the egg was out of the fallopian tube and implanted in the uterus. 

Rolling his eyes upward, he calculated that with embryogenesis 2% complete, human embryogenesis taking about ten weeks, and assuming the zygote taking 6-9 days to travel down the fallopian tube, she must have conceived…oh, 8-10 days ago. She hadn’t even missed her period yet (another fact that Rose probably wouldn’t be too pleased that he kept track of). 

The Doctor finally exhaled with that piece of information. 8-10 days ago she had been at home, just, but... Not in that warehouse. With those nefarious men. And that hour of memory loss. 

Right. That terror resolved, he was only faced with… well, the fact that she was pregnant. He assumed it was unplanned, knew he should go tell her so she could make an informed decision as early as possible. Talk to the…the father. The Doctor tried to swallow but found himself unable to as white-hot jealousy and possessiveness raced through his body. And not a little ache of pain tightening in his hearts. So much for detachment. 

Despite her reassurances, he knew she would leave him one day, probably even soon. And truthfully he hoped she would, knew that she would want more from life than a repressed and restless Time Lord who could never give her those things. Marriage, a house, babies… Well, she had launched herself irrevocably down that trajectory… No turning back now. Well, yes, she could turn back now, but he knew should wouldn’t. 

Rose would never abort the baby, of that much he was sure: she kept her eyes peeled for errant ladybirds while walking on the spring pavement, for Christ’s sake… It was one of the things he loved about her: she still saw the beauty and sorrow in the small things to which his own hearts had long grown cold with time.

Which meant she was going to leave. Leave him. Leave him and the TARDIS. Go back to Earth and live the slow life with some bleeding _human man_. Or alone or with Jackie, he obviously didn’t presume to know the details. Didn’t especially want to know at this moment in time. The thought of Rose pressed up against another man during her visit home, their bodies naked and writhing… His Gallifryean stomach of steel twisted and churned. Not that he could blame her; she came from a fairly sexually liberated culture and she certainly wasn't having any needs fulfilled travelling the stars with a godless monk. 

The Doctor stood up and robotically made his way to the galley like the condemned man that he was, thinking of the best way to break the news to Rose. And he fully intended to, that is, he had every intention of bringing up the results of the full body scan at once. Right away. Until he caught sight of her standing at the counter, her tongue at the side of her lips in concentration as she diced the carrots and swept them into a glass prep bowl.

He barely caught himself on the doorframe as his knees threatened to collapse. He could smell the onion she had already chopped and the tannins in the two cups of tea waiting on the table, but much more saliently he perceived, was overwhelmed by, Rose’s scent infused with pregnancy hormones. Rassilon, she always smelled good; he frequently had to erect filters in his brain to prevent distraction at inopportune times. But this, _this_ was beyond intoxicating. He felt every single one of the neurons in his brain’s pleasure centers fire at once and he was powerless to dampen them; his vision was blurred at the edges with a warm golden haze; his stomach lurched and his hearts clenched, almost vibrated in his chest. 

It was with unadulterated delight he took in her essence until the pain started creeping in again, transforming those same symptoms into ones interpreted as agony: fuzzy vision, nausea, heartache. It was the pain that brought him back to himself. Taking a couple of seconds to lock all those inappropriate and excruciating feelings back into their cages, he finally cleared his throat and entered the galley.

Rose turned her head and gave him a huge grin, “Hey there. Took you long enough, what happened to five minutes, oh Lord of Time?”

_Ah._ He hadn’t realised how long he’d spent in panic at the console. Or possibly in reverie at the doorway. Either way, she was more correct than she knew in her flippant banter; he shouldn’t have been able to lose track of that much time. “Sorry,” he stammered, “took longer than I thought…”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” she laughed, noting his flustered expression. “Just about finished with these veggies now, good timing.”

Clutching one of the teacups if only to give his hand something to do other than wring at his side, he knew in that instant that he wasn’t going to tell her the news now. Better to get some food in her first ( _and for the baby_ , his mind taunted him). She was cranky enough when she was hungry, he considered fondly.

“Thanks for the tea,” he mumbled as he raised it to his lips and began to gulp it down, scorching his tongue in the process. “Give me a minute and I’ll start on the sauce.” 

Throwing himself into food preparation helped to distract his racing mind and they worked side by side in companionable silence, the Doctor flinging ingredients around and pulling out every single kitchen utensil and pan in a quest for one with the exact dimensions of the volume of the ingredients. 

After a few minutes, the Doctor shot Rose a sly grin and aimed his sonic above their heads and the scratchy sounds of the Glenn Miller Band began streaming through the stereo grating. The beam that spread across Rose’s face was inebriating and he was powerless to resist grabbing her hand and placing his other hand lightly at her waist, guiding their legs back and forth in time with the music. 

“You remember how to dance in this body too, eh, Doctor?” she laughed and he spun her around in response.

“I’ve got the moves in every body, Rose Tyler. Don’t you forget that!” he bandied back jovially.

“Glad you cleared that up,” she giggled, elated that he seemed to be getting over his strange mood from before, “I had wondered…”

Grinning, the Doctor dipped her, spun her around one more time, and released her with a chivalrous baisemain and a twinkle of his eye. Rose had to take a second to catch her breath before she turned back to where the Doctor was already back at work sautéing the onions. Only about half the pieces survived the aggressions of his spatula as he scraped it wildly around in the pan.

Biting her lip but failing to stop the smiling peaking through, she dumped the pasta into the boiling water and glanced sideways at the Doctor, who was of course staring at her. Hot and cold, that one.

“Shall I make a salad to go with it?” she finally asked to break the silence.

“Nah, unless you really want one. I’m in the mood for some pure carbs and protein; no vegetables haunting my plate tonight. Or we can count the carrots in the sauce?” 

Rose laughed indulgently at his vegetable aversion (fruit, he seemed to have no problems with…) and glanced around the chaotic galley. At a loss for what to do now that everything on her end was prepared for dinner, and not wanting to get involved in the carrot lobbing that was apparently necessary to force their submission into the pan, she sunk down in a kitchen chair and sipped at her tea. The Doctor tracked her movements but turned back to the pan once she settled down. 

After a while he put a lid over the skillet and joined her at the table, scooting his chair over so that they sat side by side, and then a second later so close that it was actually more like shoulder to shoulder. Sighing contentedly, she rested her head on his shoulder and he slid down a little to give her better access, resting his cheek on her hair once she’d settled. Soon abandoning his teacup, he reached over and commandeered her left hand, stroking it distractedly with both his hands in a lazy hand massage. Rose was pretty sure that if they’d been cats, their purring would be thunderous and synchronised at this point. 

Sadly she had to jump up when the pasta pan began to boil over. Finding it to be just about _al dente_ , she rustled around under the counter for a colander while the Doctor hauled himself up and took the sauce off the flame. Rose busied herself locating plates and cutlery and soon they were seated back at the table with their spread and the Doctor started grating Parmesan over their steaming plates. Rose snorted when she saw the mountain of cheese that grew atop the Doctor’s pasta, toppling off the plate, but said nothing. 

“Protein, Rose.”

“Mmm…”

The meal was unbelievably delicious and the Doctor preened while feigning modesty and waving aside her exclamations and compliments. They were too busy shoveling the pasta into their mouths to speak for a few minutes, but as she reached for her water Rose broke the silence. 

“So, you gonna tell me what you’ve been freaking out about these last couple of days?” she asked as casually as she could, not wanting to shatter the good mood but hoping that maybe he’d relaxed enough to talk.

“Freaking out? Time Lords do not ‘freak out,’ I’ll have you know. Calm, collected, and foremost logical,” he pouted with affected indignation and a gentle bump of her shoulder with his.

“Right. What might a Time Lord call it, then,” she asked innocently, taking a sip of water, “when they hide away for hours on end pretending to fix unbroken things, start to act all super-protective, and fall into a trance after a simple hug?”

“Hmm…” he hummed, pretending to give her question serious thought. “Multifaceted and utterly genius behavior that lesser life forms can only be baffled by?” With a self-satisfied nod, he smiled playfully at her and returned to his food. 

Rose rolled her eyes. Guess not. What would it take to get him to actually talk about his emotions rather than dancing (literally tonight) around them? She pondered this, twirling her fork gracelessly around her spaghetti strands and watching the sauce splatter across the table. If he was a typical bloke, she’d simply break out the—

Rose suddenly grinned. “Wine! That’s what this meal needs. We’ve got some of that red left, right?” she asked as she scooted her chair back to stand up.

Quicker than a shot, the Doctor bolted out of his chair with an incongruous look of alarm in his eyes. “Wine, yes, mmm, love wine, me, perfect, I’ll just… Sit, I’ll get it,” he babbled as he waved her to sit down and strode over to the pantry. He spent at least a minute rummaging through the bottles, peering intensely at each of then until finally found the one he was looking for at the back. Rose raised her eyebrows as he waved the bottle in front of her triumphantly.

“Charcunian red, best there is- it’s perfect for, er, tomato-based sauces.”

“Well, get on with it then. Think the corkscrew is in the drawer to the right of the fridge.” She was surprised her plan was going so smoothly and that she didn’t have to talk him into imbibing like she usually did. 

The Doctor turned away from her as he wrestled with the wine opener, noticing that his hands were shaking. He’d almost forgotten, for a second there… Grabbing a couple of wine goblets, he sat back down and poured them each a glass and settled back in his chair, trying not to stare at Rose and _definitely_ not stare at her abdomen.

Knowing full well her intention when she suggested the wine (he was brilliant, after all) he inwardly smirked at her wide eyes as he downed glass after glass of the non-alcoholic wine as if he were dehydrated (not that he couldn’t easily metabolize the alcoholic version, but she didn’t know that either). To his great delight, she was succumbing to a rather fabulous placebo effect, as was he in response to her increasing giddiness. He almost managed to forget his discovery again in their chuckles and silly stories, the way she giggled and her tongue flicked out to the corner of her lips, how she ducked her head and lowered her lashes when he teased her about something, the twist of golden strands of hair around her index finger... 

After Rose tipped the wine bottle upside down to finish it off, a few drops splashing out haphazardly, he caught her eying him over her glass with a serious look in her eyes.

“Now then, Doctor, why have you _really_ been so crazy these past days?” she finally asked, pointing her finger accusingly at him. 

He stiffened, searching her eyes as he contemplated for a few seconds. Clearly this was the ideal opening to tell her she was…her expectant nature (couldn’t even say it in his own mind, not an auspicious start). But they were having such a nice evening, and, well, traditionally 21st century Earth tests wouldn’t be able to detect anything yet; it was really just a fluke she was travelling with a time traveller with an extraordinarily sensitive olfactory palate… Finally convincing himself that she’d deal better with in after a good night’s sleep, he searched for a truthful partial explanation for his behavior over the past week.

He sighed. “Sorry,” he attempted, hoping she'd accept the apology as enough and move on.

It didn’t work. Rose shook her head and kept her index directed threateningly at his chest. Oh well, worth a try.

“It’s that memory loss, I guess. I don’t like that we’re missing an hour of our lives, most of it likely spent with degenerate psychopaths…”

Rose lowered her finger finally, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I know, it’s unsettling. I was thinking though, maybe we were doused with that memory stuff just as we were leaving to alert the authorities; we don't know how long we were in that place, maybe we'd just gotten back.”

The Doctor gave her a tense smile. There was more, he could feel it. He just wasn’t sure how concerned they should be. He pushed aside the nagging possibility that had been worrying him since they got their memories back in the warehouse and especially after smelling those pregnancy hormones, that one of those men had… But all signs pointed to the… baby (he had to get a grip on himself before he told her, he berated himself) being conceived prior to their landing in Honolulu, so he was just going to ignore that fear for now. 

“That's a possibility." He swallowed back against the thickening of his airways. "But Rose… you were _crying_."

"That law enforcement officer told us they were under arrest for all sorts of things, baby adoption rings for one. I was probably upset at learning that. Maybe we had seen some of that in action." 

Her voice was steady and she honestly seemed less perturbed that he was, so he took a deep breath. "That's a good point; you are rather tender-hearted. In the best possible way." He smiled at her fondly. "In any case, I ran medical scans at the time and on you again a couple of days later, so I just need to remind myself that, well, that it all worked out okay. You know me, can’t tolerate not knowing something…” he trailed off with a small smile.

Rose give him a look of such gentle understanding as she ran her thumb across his jaw and pulled him in for a hug that he nearly broke down then and there. 

“I’m fine, you’re fine, that’s all that matters,” she whispered comfortingly, her words beating like a mummer's chant. The Doctor ducked his head and buried it further in her neck while he composed himself, trying not to inhale any of the heady scent that was concentrated there. _Pull yourself together_ , he ordered himself: she’s the one about to hear life-changing news and you’re practically sobbing in her arms. The beginnings of several bitter thoughts involving crying babies wormed their way to the surface but he managed to push them back before they fully materialised. 

Rose slowly pulled back, her arms still around him, and caught his eye. Her reassuring eyes were what finally snapped the Time Lord out of his ruminations and he gave her a soft smile of gratitude that she returned immediately.

“Suppose we should start cleaning up…” Rose suggested, dropping her arms from around him and looking despairingly around the tornado of a galley. 

Thankfully, he grabbed her arm and tugged her out of the room. “It can wait until tomorrow,” he said decidedly, half to himself. “Let’s watch a movie- ooh, how about the second part to that sci-fi thriller we watched a couple weeks back?”

Almost jogging to keep apace with the long-legged Doctor who still clutched her hand as he traipsed through the corridor to the media room, Rose shook her head vehemently: ”Absolutely not. I’m not sitting through another three hours of physics technobabble set on a spaceship. Also, are you really labeling that a thriller?”

“What?” the Doctor asked, scandalised, “It’s a political race for cold fusion! There’s intrigue, scandal, sexual tension… What more could you ask for?”

Rose snorted as they entered the media room, “Sexual tension? Between those two metal androids? Nope, you lost the right to choose after that one; I'm picking again."

The Doctor groaned good-naturedly and collapsed into the middle of the sofa, but didn’t make a peep of complaint when she found some 25th century film claiming to be the a rom-com revival of Wuthering Heights. Rose wasn’t the greatest proponent of that genre, but they both needed something lighthearted, and she was perplexed at how this particular adaptation might work. And maybe she had a thing for dark and brooding men…

Rose curled up on the end of the couch, her hand propping up her head on the overstuffed armrest and her feet tucked under her body. As the opening credits began to roll, she noticed with amusement several sidelong glances from the Doctor on the other side of the couch. Twice he opened his hand only to fist it closed again. She ended his mental debate by taking the decision out of his hands, shifting closer to him, burrowing up to his side, and manipulating his arm to wrap around her shoulders. Their long exhalations of contentment were almost simultaneous and Rose leant her head in a little closer to the Doctor’s chest. 

They’d never properly snuggled like this during movie night but it didn’t feel awkward, just a natural progression of their already tactile relationship. Well, maybe she missed the first few minutes of movie plot, too wrapped up in the feeling of the Doctor’s arm around her, the warmth of his chest under her cheek… And when he started absentmindedly tracing circles on her arm about half an hour in and her attention tunneled to the tingling that languorously spread through her core, well, it was just a dull scene in the movie, not worth wondering about… By the time the movie was halfway over, she was immensely grateful she’d chosen a literary adaption from a novel without any sex scenes; not sure she could handle that right about now.

When the end credits started up, Rose reluctantly started to move forward to grab the remote but was surprised when the Doctor clutched her closer to himself, refusing to release her from under his arm. She stilled at the gesture, made even more intimate by his shift to rest his chin on her head. Neither of them spoke for a few long moments, barely breathing, before the Doctor finally straightened his neck and cleared his throat. 

“How about another movie? It’s still early,” he suggested in a tone laced with what she could almost interpret as a desperate need to keep her close. 

Rose leaned back into his hold, her heart beating faster. “Sure,” she agreed and reached out for the remote with her feet in a surprisingly graceful move. Flicking through the movie options with a warm feeling in her chest, she quickly located the second part to that ‘thriller’ the Doctor had mentioned earlier and hit play.

“We don’t have to watch this, you know,” the Doctor protested, “I’m happy to watch anything.” 

He reached over for the remote but Rose kept it out of his grasp. “Nope, it’s fine. I’m tired anyway, I’ll probably fall asleep in the middle of whatever we put on. Might as well be in your nerdy robot love story…” She said the last sentence with a cheeky grin, her tongue peeking out from the center of her lips, and was rewarded with the Doctor squeezing her arm playfully and pulling her even closer to him. She was now more sprawled across his chest than anything else and he snaked his other arm around her in support of this more precarious position. It was essentially a sitting hug, she contemplated with a hidden smile into his shirt and she noted that she was almost sitting in his lap. Her viewing angle was less than ideal but she couldn’t care less.

Rose blearily opened her eyes for a second, clearly sometime later, to discover that she was now draped _entirely_ across the Doctor’s lap, her legs across the couch and one of his hands gently stroking her hair while the other firmly planted on her arm, pinning her firmly to himself. 

The next time she opened her eyes, she was disappointingly tucked up alone in her bed, but a chair had been moved close to where she was sleeping and a dark figure was sitting in it. At first she though it was the giant teddy bear, but as her eyes adjusted she realized it was the Doctor, slumped low and sleeping. His legs were crossed at the ankle in front of him on the bed and his hair was ruffled within an inch of its life. She’d never seen the Doctor sleep and was drowsily mesmerized for a minute until she noticed his face was twisted and tense rather than peaceful. His head begin to loll forward and then jerk back up, his eyes still closed. 

Yawning, she gently shook the leg closest to her. “Doctor?” she whispered. His eyes opened after a pause but she could tell, even in the darkened room, that he wasn’t fully awake. “Just…come here,” she whispered so as not to spook him, lifting the covers. Without hesitation (and that was another confirmation that he was still half asleep) he complied, crawling into her bed and curling up on his side facing her before closing his eyes again. Closing her eyes again too, Rose felt his hand searching under the covers for hers and caught it, twining their fingers contentedly before drifting off.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor woke slowly, contentedly allowing the artificial sunlight from the window to filter through his eyes and mulling over the last time he’d woken up with such a peaceful feeling. He must have had some pretty nice dreams last night, or at least a paucity of nightmares, although he couldn’t remember any details. It was only when he started to serenely stretch out his limbs that he processed the extra tactile and proprioceptive information they were already being transmitting to him. A deep inhalation confirmed Rose’s presence in his arms, her back flush against his chest. Both of his arms were holding her close, one under her warm body while the other was draped across her waist and resting on her stomach. Her arms were folded into her chest, encircling his lower arm and hugging it to herself like a teddy bear. His face was firmly planted in her hair, his lips pressed to the nape of her neck, one of her legs embedded between his. There wasn’t a centimeter of possible tactile connection that wasn’t being utilized, not a breath of space between any part of their enmeshed bodies. 

He froze, swallowing. Hard. 

The last thing he remembered was sitting in her chair after he carried her to bed, knowing he should go to bed himself but unwilling to take his eyes off her. Saying that he had enjoyed being wrapped around Rose during those movies would be an understatement, regardless of its bittersweet undertones. Their time together was ending, it had to: time marched on and so did his companions.

And yet in all his years, all his friends on board, he’d never had as much trouble letting go than he was with this one. The one he was currently spooning. Tightly. In her bed.

Vaguely he recalled her lifting the duvet and inviting him under the covers at some point the previous night and inwardly sighed with relief. At least he hadn’t just accosted her unaware. Although he was pretty sure they hadn’t started his time in her bed snuggling quite so…close... 

Her scent was beginning to overpower him again, his vision and willpower going fuzzy. With horror, he felt…other body parts beginning to respond to her proximity, so he gingerly started to extract himself, the first order of business being the angling of his hips away from her bum.

He knew the instant she woke up, no doubt the result of his squirming, by the way she first dozily wiggled her hips back seeking his and then suddenly went still, sucking in a shallow breath. Frozen himself, at least a minute passed in rigid and hyper-focused silence, neither moving a muscle.

It was, of course, Rose who finally made the first move: the Doctor probably would have passed out the rest of his nearly immortal life avoiding the next few moments by emulating a statue. Slowly, without disentangling the Doctor’s arms around her, she turned to face him, biting her lip momentarily before meeting his petrified eyes. 

Smiling to defuse some of that tension, she gave him a shy smile, her lower lip still caught between her teeth. “Good morning.”

Air rushed out of his lungs when he realized she wasn’t angry or, he didn’t know, scandalised at his presence in her bed, his arms holding her tight. Well, after all, she _had_ crawled into his bed not even a week ago and had done the very same thing. Not that she had any clue about that, of course.

“Er, morning…” If his hands were free he’d be scratching the back of his neck right about now.

Hands. Right. He could let her go now. 

Untying his arms from around her, he sat up against the headboard, ruffling his hair nervously and looking anywhere but at Rose. Right now, he wanted to run. Run to the console, run out into the vortex… 

But he didn’t. He mentally pinned himself to the bed because he didn’t want to make things even more awkward. Because their time was ticking away without her even knowing it. Because she smelled so good and she was so warm, and well, she smelled so good… 

“Sorry, I don’t really remember…” he trailed off, not quite willing to put words to crawling into bed and spooning her like a lover. 

“No, I…” she sat up and interrupted, to his relief. “You were so uncomfortable in the chair and I…”

She too trailed off and they just sat there in silence for a spell. If there was a clock in her room, he though wryly, its ticking would be deafening.

Unable to sit still in stagnant silence a second longer (mmm, what a lovely piece of alliteration…) and deciding to just act like nothing unusual had occurred, the Doctor finally bounced out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, regardless of why, that was a _great_ night’s sleep,” he proclaimed jovially, “I think we should add that to our repertoire.”

That last bit was a bluff. A huge bumbling bluff. But not one to back down from something so tantalizing (the bluff, not the…sleeping…) Rose grinned back at him with her tongue between her teeth. 

“Definitely. Next time you’re tired, come find me.”

The Doctor had to swallow again but his recovery was admirably quick, glad they had returned to at least some version of their customary status quo. Grinning right back at her, he winked and turned to leave her to her morning routine. 

She still hadn’t moved when he ducked back into the doorway a couple of seconds later. “Three choices for our itinerary today: biggest library in the universe, crystal bowling on Whartium 52, or a visit to Jackie. Your choice.”

Rose wrinkled her nose a little at the banality of those options. “Bowling, I guess. Can’t we do something more…alien? Interesting?”

“We don’t always have to run for our lives to have a good time. I’m beginning to think you only stick around for the adrenaline, Rose Tyler,” he accused with a smile.

“Adrenaline and your swimming pool, Doctor,” she bantered right back without a beat. 

“I knew it!”

Impulsively, she darted out to give his arm a quick squeeze. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of an uprising or, I don’t know, bowling intrigues while we’re there? A 9-pin mafia? A secret plot to infiltrate the scoring system?”

The Doctor’s smile was so wide she wondered idly if his lips would crack. “Nope!” he sang out and left again. She sighed. Not past the mollycoddling yet then…

\---

True to his word, the only adrenaline surge she experienced while knocking down natural crystal stalagmites in an underground cave was when she thoroughly beat him 121-to-85 (well, and that brief second when the Doctor bent over to retrieve his bowling ball), but she had to admit that it had been a fun day. The Doctor even managed to act vaguely normal, even if he had gone silent for a few minutes during lunch after refusing to buy them beer on tap at the bar. “Please. I’m already so far behind you in this game; I’m not adding to your fodder,” he’d snorted playfully, but the look in his eyes didn’t quite match the mirth of his words. 

Still, on the whole a great day, especially the beautiful stroll under the stalactites deeper in the cave. The Doctor had captured her hand early in their amble and didn’t let it go until they were back to the TARDIS, and even then he seemed reluctant to relinquish it. Rose supposed she should be suspicious as to why he had been so, well, clingy, in the last few days, but wasn’t about to rock the quite frankly fabulous boat on that one. If for reason he felt the need for closer contact, she was willing to martyr herself through it.

\---

He watched her sitting on the jump seat, swinging her legs back and forth as she made her promised weekly call to her mother. He loved that she was comfortable enough around him to chat with him in the room, not caring whether he was listening in. Which he always did, surreptitiously from his position at the console. Hearing her recount their adventures in her own words, through her own perspective, was one of his favourite pastimes. Her face always lit up as she spoke, her cheeks blushing every time her mum said something clearly inappropriate, and 86% of the time a strand of hair was twirled around her fingers when she listened to Jackie’s long diatribes. 

With a pang in each of his hearts, he realized that this might be the last phone call to her mother to which he would be privy. Once he told her she was pregnant, she would almost certainly insist on going straight home. He wretched his eyes from her, moving back under the console, and glared sullenly at the underside of the grating. He was having uncanny flashbacks to his previous body.

Now. He needed to tell her now. As soon as she hung up with her mum. 

But… The Doctor knew the realities of being a young mother from a council estate, knew he could never convey anything but happiness or at least quiet resignation for her since it wasn’t by any stretch of his imagination (and he had stretched it to breaking point) his place. He knew Rose was brilliant, determined, had grown up so much in the year plus he’d known her, knew without a doubt she would be a magnificent mother. But still, he was pretty sure this wouldn’t exactly be happy news for her, at least not at first. 

Yes, part of his reasons for not telling her right away were selfish, but truthfully, he hurt most of all for her. He was acutely cognisant of how much she would miss their travels too, even if it would be worth it in the end to have a normal human life with her child.

And maybe the father too. _That_ had been the variable he’d avoiding thinking about the most. He had no claim on her, no right to fantasise about tying up the prick and cutting of each of his appendages one by one with a butter knife. He knew that he should hope that it was a good guy, a warm and respectful man who would stick around and cherish her as much as she deserved. But it was better to just push those excruciating thoughts away: there was no good scenario to his heart of hearts. His heart of hearts that selfishly wanted the father to be useless and unworthy, that maybe _he_ could be there for her, and— 

No. 

He couldn't and she wouldn't. 

_Detach, detach…_

Frowning, he admitted he was also just a little angry with Rose. Again, he had no right. But she’d been the one to… Well, it took two to tango, he reminded himself bitterly, two to…jeopardise their traveling life together. Still. Done now. And obviously an accident; she was only human after all. 

Smiling dryly, the Doctor realised he’d plowed his way through the classic Kubler-Ross stages of grief in the last few days. Only thing left was acceptance. 

Nope. Not there yet. One more day, he promised himself. One last swansong trip tomorrow. And then he’d break the news. She wouldn’t know this early back on Earth anyway; he’d give her one last day of carefree existence. 

Setting course somewhere he knew she’d enjoy for dinner, he thought about where to take her tomorrow. It wasn’t often that he actually got to plan a final trip for a companion and the pressure to come up with something adequate, something to thank her for their time together, was paralyzing. 

Rose hung up the phone and smiled up at him as he pulled a lever. 

“Hang on,” he warned, reaching out to brace her as they landed with a jolt.

“Where are we?” she asked, wide eyed. He usually limited their travels to once per day, knowing if he didn’t his humans would never get any rest.

“Venice,” he paused, analyzing the timelines for a second “1995. I was craving pizza for dinner. What do you think?”

Rose squealed, but then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Venice, Earth?” 

He laughed. “Of course. No way to replicate Venice anywhere else. Not that they didn’t try…”

Rose jumped up and down with unfettered glee. Literally. Yes, it was amazing to visit other galaxies and times, but there was also something to be said for the classics (in her mind, at least). They’d done Paris that one time, but otherwise she struggled when her friends asked her where she’d gone on her travels, having to invent little villages in Africa or Asia as the best approximations. 

Hooking her arm in his, she practically dragged him out the door, sucking in a deep breath when she stepped outside. He’d landed them at the central train entrance to the city and the Grand Canal was stretched out in front like a tableau. 

She squealed again and wriggled her legs with excitement. “It’s so perfect it looks phony, like it’s a movie set!”

The Doctor telepathically asked the TARDIS to suspend the translation circuit temporarily so they could experience Venice in its proper Italian glory and then rummaged around in his pocket. He pulled out a dingy disposable camera and handed it to Rose. “Knew I had one of these in there somewhere.”

She immediately took a picture of the Canal and then forced the Doctor to stand on the bridge and pose for another. “Ooh, gondolas! Can we take one, Doctor?”

He smiled at her indulgently, ready and willing to give her anything in his power at that moment. Absolutely anything. “Can’t visit Venice without riding one. Let’s walk over to St. Mark’s Square, there are loads of gondoliers there. Or!” he exclaimed, “I remember there’s one place near there where you can rent your own. What do you say, Rose Tyler, do you fancy floating through Venice with your very own personal gondolier?”

Rose’s grin threatened to split her face in half, but she managed to tame it a little to contemplate him in mock seriousness. “I don’t know…” she hemmed, “Will you sing?”

He turned his nose up at her haughtily. “I’ll have you know I played an instrumental role, pun _completely_ intended, in the composition of at least one barcarole. Offenbach, nice man, bit handsy actually… Not that I can talk!”

He grabbed her hand and they rambled down the narrow streets, charting a languid path to St. Mark’s. They stopped so she could take pictures of the heavy-laden lilacs draping down from balconies as they passed and exclaimed over items in small shops and stalls. 

Rose’s eye was caught by an unusual gold mask with only eye holes, the rest of the mask covered in ornate gold filigree like lace. The sweet elderly merchant explained broken English that his shop was one of the few to cast and paint their masks by hand and that the one she was admiring was called a Servetta muta. The Doctor laughed, translating this as ‘mute mask’ because it had no mouth opening and had to be held on the face with a button held in the wearer’s lips. 

"Perhaps it will do you some good," he commented with a cheeky smile.

"If you wear it, maybe," she retorted with a grin.

He bought it for her, even though she didn’t ask, and the smile she gave him made his quick duck into the pawn shop while she was in the loo earlier all worth it. The advantages of deep pockets and access to planets where gold was worthless… Tucking her prize into his pocket, he apprehended her hand again and they strolled up the alleys. 

Several times she leaned her head on his shoulder or arm as they walked, in wonder at some sight or simply in happiness and he thought his hearts would burst with pleasure and break into pieces at the same time. He tried to sweep those negative thoughts away though, reminding himself to enjoy these last precious moments with her without a cloud of gloom for things to come. 

Passing a bakery, he turned them around and procured several varieties of pizza slices and bottles of lemon San Pelligrino. Seeing Rose eye up the pastry section, he told the baker to throw in one of each of the tiny pastries. Picnic on a gondola. He was surpassing even himself today. 

The Doctor negotiated with a rental stand, flashing his psychic paper to identify them as local royalty of some sort that led the men at the stall fall over themselves preparing a gondola. They loaded it up with plush blankets and filled a cooler with a bottle of champagne and fluted glasses, gesticulating dramatically and effusing beautiful Italian words that the Doctor didn’t bother translating for her. They did eye the Doctor a little warily when he whipped the gondola pole around and almost beheaded a nearby tourist, distracted by a loud noise coming from the square, but made no objections as Rose settled down in the boat and they set off. 

As usual, the Doctor was a world-class tour guide, and he was surprisingly adept at steering the gondola through the congested waterways while pointing out the sights. He turned them into a quiet waterway after a bit and let them drift as he stepped down into the main body of the boat to eat their picnic. 

“Wow,” Rose mumbled, her mouth full of pizza, “how is pizza from a tiny street vendor quite possibly the best pizza I’ve ever eaten?”

“It’s Venice. Magic,” he answered, waving his arm at the multi-coloured houses on stilts. “Also, I’ve ordered from that exact place before. Er, or after. I think it was in the 2020’s … Anyway, you don’t forget pizza like this.” He wrapped his arm around her as they ate; a slight chill was starting to permeate the evening. Rose leaned back contentedly with a smile.

Remembering the champagne, she sat up after a few minutes and stumbled carefully to the other end of the gondola to open the cooler. She noticed the Doctor eye her carefully, but motioned for her to pass the bottle when she struggled to pop the cork. It opened easily between his fingers with a controlled pop and she passed him the two glasses to fill. He sat the open bottle on the edge of the bench and handed her a glass.

“Cheers”, he said, clinking their glasses together, “to Venice. And Pizza.”

“Cheers, Doctor. Thanks so much for bringing us here, this was a great idea. Best dinner ever.”

“Not the freshly steamed snails from the market in New Morocco?” he asked with waggled eyebrows.

“Ugh, those were so gross. I can’t believe you convinced me they were a local delicacy!”

“They were!” he insisted, “Didn’t you see the queue of people buying them?”.

“Delicate is _not_ a word I would use to describe those slimey, tasteless pieces of rubber.”

After a few sips of champagne, he got to his feet to step back to the helm when a sudden sway of balance loss caused the champagne to fall into the canal. Laughing regretfully, Rose scooped it out and dumped out the remaining liquid into the water before securing the bottle back in the cooler. The Doctor meandered the gondola slowly back to the dock and they disembarked into the now dark night. 

\---

The lights of the city left them quiet as they walked arm in arm back to the TARDIS. Rather than follow the tourist-bated trail they had vaguely followed earlier, Rose tugged the Doctor down quiet passageways haphazardly, knowing the city was small enough that they couldn't really get lost. They were so wrapped up in their game of counting stray cats that neither noticed the dark figure creeping behind them until the Doctor felt a rough hand at his arm and a gun at his back. 

The voice demanded he hand over his wallet in rapid Italian and the Doctor was more than happy to comply. He about to reach into his transdimensional pocket to find the wallet he had showed in there for such occurrences (in 900+ years, it wasn't the first time this had come up, unsurprisingly) when his jeopardy-friendly companion whipped around unexpectedly and kneed their assailant in the groin. Horrified, he could only watch as another man stepped out of the shadows to yank her roughly in front of him, holding a knife at her throat. The Doctor's assailant fell to his knees in pain but managed to keep the gun firmly pointed at his back. 

"Rose, stop, don’t..." he yelled, throwing the decoy wallet on the ground and holding his hands up in the air. "Here, just take it!" he shouted but the men were angry and dangerous now. The man with the knife shoved Rose down onto the street just as the man with the gun used all his force to push the Doctor down some cellar steps a few meters away. He prowled over to Rose with all the anger of a proud man belittled, glaring at the girl sprawled on the ground, his leg poised to kick.

" _Lei è incinta!_ " the Doctor shouted desperately in Italian, seeing the rage in the assailant's eyes. 

It was, at that exact moment, that the TARDIS recognised his distress and superseded the translation circuit override, an automatic feature he had implemented centuries ago. 

Rose therefore understood his frantic words.

_"She's pregnant!"_

His plea distracted the two assailants just long enough that the Doctor managed to whip out his sonic screwdriver and set off the electronic house alarm above their heads, the screeching siren piercing the air. Panicked, they scattered, slipping quickly into the dark of the night. 

The Doctor leapt up the steps with alacrity and ran over to Rose, checking her over before helping her to stand and immediately gathering her into a tight hug. They remained enfolded in each other until their breathing began to normalise and he had the sense of mind to lead them quickly back to a better lit and trafficked thoroughfare. Once in safety, he remembered her impulsive actions, panic mixing with fury at her recklessness. He turned to rebuke her angrily but halted immediately at her baffled inquisitorial expression.

"Pregnant, huh? That was actually a pretty good diversion tactic..." she commented with light-hearted affect. Her eyebrows were quirked however and her facial expression was unsure, further evidenced by the way she bit her lower lip as she regarded him.

She was disconcerted because the Doctor was staring back at her in wide-eyed panic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings definitely apply to this chapter.

Rose laughed and looking him up and down tenderly like he was a babbling toddler or a senile old man. “You think I’m…pregnant? Trust me, I’m _not_ pregnant. Do you, like, sense my monthly cycles or something? ‘Cause that’s weird, but not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered since I met you…” she mused, rolling her eyes slightly. “Anyway, I’m always a little off on the TARDIS. My body has no sense of time in the vortex I guess…”

He clenched his jaw but said nothing, instead putting a hand on the small of her back and leading them in tense silence back to the TARDIS at a fast but steady pace. Her reassurances and increasingly anxious questions were ignored. Once inside he quietly turned the console screen to face her, tapping in the sequence for the full body scan.

And still she shook it off, shrugging. “It must be a glitch or something then, because there really is no way that I’m pregnant. Seriously. No possible way.” As he remained silent, she mumbled her next words, blushing. “Really, I haven’t…been with anyone since I met you. Like a year ago. More than a year.”

Rather than being reassured, however, the Doctor’s face only further darkened and he found himself needing to turn away from her to catch his breath. Swallowing, he paused before finally pleading so quietly it was almost a whisper, unable to meet her gaze. “Are you sure? Not even… even once, while you were home last week?” He held his breath, terrified, as he waited for her answer. 

Time slowed to a crawl.

“I swear,” she assured him in a calm voice, but panic was starting to rise in her throat with every passing moment he stayed silent. 

He turned his head to stare at her with wide and horrified eyes. “Rose…” he pleaded in a whisper, more broken than she had even seen him, more broken than he’d been with the gun and the Dalek. “It’s not just the scanner, you…I can sense it, your hormones…please tell me there's someone in London who… Or Mickey, even, maybe my estimates are way off… Please…” 

But she only shook her head mutely, beginning to match his panic levels and sucking in fast, shallow breaths. The Doctor stood stone still, his only movement the muscles straining to squeeze his eyes closed. 

“How…pregnant? I mean, how far along?” she finally forced out, but suspecting she already knew based on the Doctor’s body language. The background humming of the TARDIS seemed strangely deafening until she realized it was actually the sound of blood buzzing in her ears. 

He forced himself to exhale heavily before he replied. “Anywhere from a week to a week and a half…I’d thought…my calculations…it varies so much from person-to-person…” 

Rose knew, on some level, that she should be trying to process this information, but the sheer scale of the facts that had been hurled at her in the last five minutes was too much for her panicked brain to process. The Doctor's final few words after "a week" were a cacophony of white noise that her mind half-heartedly struggled to interpret. She found herself just staring blankly into nothingness; her mind was completely void of thought, so vacant that all she perceived at the moment was an endless canvas of fuzzy white static. 

At least until she was distracted by the Doctor’s face growing progressively livid until he was pure white and red fury, his pupils so dark that he looked a little demonic. She took an instinctual step back from him when he suddenly moved forward, avoiding her gaze as he stormed over to the console and slamming buttons and levers with enough angry force that a handle snapped off in his hand. He threw it to the ground in disgust and she half expected him to storm over and stomp on it for good measure. 

As if sensing the Doctor’s instability, the TARDIS landed more gently that she’d ever experienced, and he thundered toward the door while the floor was still vibrating.

“Stay here,” he growled in a low, dangerous voice and without a backward glance he slammed the door behind him.

\---

His last coherent thought was a mental demand to his ship to keep Rose from following after him and then white-hot rage took over his body. He had avoided turning to this line of inquiry earlier since he knew the Honolulu perpetrators and their confederates would have been turned over immediately to the Interplanetary Internment Facility. With severity of their crimes, they wouldn’t have suffered much more time alive. Earth was relatively new to extraterrestrial affairs and was still suffering from an extremely reactionary justice system in response. 

Bending his own rules, he had set his coordinates for as far back in his own timeline as he dared, further even, landing the TARDIS on the Judicum space station facility eight hours after they had left Honolulu. 

Every individual he passed down the hallway to the reception desk reeled backward, one elderly man pressing himself against the wall and slow-moving teenagers scattering in response to the full force of the Oncoming Storm. 

“Prisoners 196567 A to D,” he barked at the petrified receptionist, flashing the psychic paper. He didn't care what it said; his actual credentials were enough to allow him any access he wanted anyway. 

To her credit, the receptionist immediately began typing those numbers into her computer, but the confusion and fear rushing through her veins effectively strangled her working memory. After two typos the Doctor grabbed the screen from her and punched in the details himself. 

Prisoner 196567a: Execution implemented 12/12/4287  
Prisoner 196567b: Execution implemented 12/12/4287  
Prisoner 196567c: Execution implemented 12/12/4287  
Prisoner 196567d: Execution implemented 12/12/4287

He let out a loud growl and ripped the screen out from the desk, hurling it to the ground. Not enough. He scanned the room for something to take out his overwhelming wrath on, finally settling on a glass observation wall. It was double paned and thick, but it only took one angry Time Lord blow to shatter it into a puddle on the floor. After two deep breaths, he finally turned and stalked out of the facility, oblivious to both the pin-drop shock of the humans in the waiting room and the blood gushing from his hand. 

Upon reaching the TARDIS, the Doctor stood with his forehead against the door for some time, using every trick in his repertoire to bring himself back into control and clear his tunneled vision. At long last, resigned to only a modicum of success, he unlocked the door and trudged despondently inside.

\---

Rose was standing in the same position he had left her in except her arm was folded across her upper abdomen as if holding herself in a standing position. Seeing her, his rage finally evaporated, withdrawing its protective support and adrenaline, and he collapsed to the floor against the door. He was unable to do anything but rest his head on his knees, his entire body heaving violently as he once again fought to control his breath. He was such a wreck, the last two days and ten minutes slamming into him finally, that he didn’t notice that Rose had left the room until she sank down in front of him with antiseptic and gauze and began tending to his hand. She didn’t say anything but her ministrations were so gentle that the Doctor raised his head to seek her eyes in disbelief. 

Rose gave him a muted smile as she carefully wrapped the gauze around his knuckles individually and then bound them all together. After pushing the used bloody towels into a pile, she gently raised his bandaged hand and kissed his knuckles. 

"There."

He blinked incredulously her. “Rose…” he croaked out. 

“Shhh,” she soothed as she shook her head. “Don’t worry, as long as you’re being crazy and I can take care of you, I don’t have to be crazy. Only one person can be crazy at any one time: it’s a rule.”

Unwilling to argue with that stunning piece of logic and unable to do anything else anyway, he acquiesced, bowing his head, defeated, into her shoulders. She raised herself to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms tightly around his curled up form, rubbing circles on his back. 

She really was grateful to occupy her mind rather than letting it flail about helplessly as it was doing previously, or worse, processing the details. A tiny sigh escaped her clenched jaw as she raised her hand to stroke the back of his neck and slide up to his hair. She knew she’d have to face the facts eventually, but for now she was more than content to turn her back on them: nothing felt real anyway. Besides, it was sort of nice taking care of the Doctor for once…

Once his convulsive breathing calmed, Rose gently cupped his jawline and pulled his eyes up to hers. “It’s not your fault,” she said seriously, holding his gaze firmly in her own. “I know you think it is, but it’s not”.

The Doctor shook his head, guilt and anguish haunting his eyes. “Rose…” he tried, but she again silenced him.

“No, it’s not,” she emphasized, “don’t be stupid. I made my own decision to come with you, and even now I don’t regret it. Not ever. Anyway, if it’s your fault for taking me there, it’s also my fault for suggesting an beach location for that trip. And I know you don’t blame me, I know you way too well for that. So it's not your fault either. Bad things can happen anywhere, you know that. I’m no safer in my own time and place than with you. Especially for something as primeval as…” But she couldn’t say it, hadn’t dared open that door in her mind.

“They’ve been executed already, Rose,” he finally managed, glancing at his bandaged hand. “I can’t go back any further in our timelines to get answers.”

She couldn’t suppress a shudder and had to look away from his angst-laden eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again. “I don’t…I don’t remember anything, so unless we suddenly get our memories back…and I don’t want to, now…so unless we do, I’m really fine. With… I…” She snapped her mouth closed, unable to continue with that line of conversation much further but still needing to know. “Do you think we ever _will_ get our memories back?” 

Thankfully the Doctor shook his head after closing his eyes for a moment. “I think it must have been a memory consolidation inhibitor, surprisingly advanced technology for that time, it stops short-term memories from being stored as long-term memories, disrupts brain-derived neurotropic potentiation. You..you can’t eventually remember something you never stored away in the first place. Only thing I can think of that would have such powerful effects.”

She finally exhaled at that. A bittersweet smile passed her lips, “See, there you go. Can’t be traumatised by something I never processed…”

The Doctor tried to return her smile but failed, knowing that just because the cognitive memories were non-existent didn’t mean that emotional memory traces weren’t running rampant in her sub-conscious. Probably explained the sleepwalking, actually… 

Knowing she would dismiss it but needing to say it anyway, he took her hand in his non-injured one. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to protect you from this.”

“Doctor, there’s no doubt in my mind you did everything you possibly could, okay?”

He nodded, pretty sure of that too, but still devastated by his failure. He shouldn't have been so susceptible to memory loss; his advanced physiology was usually able to filter out such drugs, especially in cases of extreme stress. Rose sat back, twisting around to lean against the wall beside him. Neither said anything for a few minutes but the Doctor kept her hand in his and was stroking her thumb gently.

“How long have you known?”

“That you’re pregnant? Um, not very long… A day, maybe two… I can only sense it once the egg has been embedded in the uterine walls. Before that, the chance of successful implantation is low enough that it’s not worth knowing.”

“You noticed when we got back to the TARDIS after that planet that thought we were infectious strippers, huh?”

He swallowed. “Yes…”

Rose narrowed her eyes as she thought back. “But you’ve been irrationally protective for all of last week, I thought…”

The Doctor sighed. “Yeah, I don’t know why… Not so irrational, really; maybe my subconscious processed something.”

Accepting his explanation, Rose stared down at their entwined fingers resting between their flush legs. “That was sneaky, _accidentally_ knocking the champagne in the river today”

He smiled a tiny bit for the first time in what seemed like aeons. “The wine we had the other evening was non-alcoholic, too.”

Smiling softly, she dipped her head down to rest on his shoulder for a brief moment. “That was thoughtful of you.”

“Always,” he muttered, not bitterly but with an undertone of sadness.

Her eyes narrowed again. “Wait, so you thought I’d slept with someone when I was at home?”

“Mmm,” the Doctor murmured, “can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually hoped so once I’d worked out the…timing of it all. Even hoped it was Mickey's, for a second there.” 

They sat in silence for another few minutes until the Doctor turned to face her, shifting so he was squatting in front of her, still holding her hand, and looking very seriously into her eyes. 

“Rose? Whatever you decide to…do…I’m here for you. Really, I’ll take care of you, and the…you don’t have to…or if you do want to, I’ll go with you… or I’ll take you home, I can be there as much as you want me to…whatever you want, okay?” His voice cracked a few times, but he made it through, completely sincere in his pledge of support. He would do anything in his power to make sure she was happy and safe. Anything.

The tears that manifest in her eyes at the beginning of his words quickly turned into a deluge once he finished talking, and he gathered her into his arms and rocked her back and forth on the console floor, knowing her protective armor had finally cracked. He kissed her forehead tenderly and not just a little desperately. 

When she was still wracked with sobs ten minutes later, he stood up with her still in her arms and carried her to her room, placing her gently in her bed before unhesitatingly shucking off his shoes and jacket and sinking down to gather her up again. Pulling up the duvet around them, he just let her cry while he buffeted her as best he could.


	6. Chapter 6

This time when they woke up tangled in each other, there was no awkwardness, mostly because they both already felt so emotionally drained; there was no room for anything else. The Doctor predictably woke first; he hadn’t technically needed any sleep that night but had just been mentally exhausted enough to drift off shortly after Rose. They were in the same position they had started in, wrapped up facing each other, Rose’s face in his chest and his jaw tucked into the top of her head. And unlike the previous morning, the Doctor knew exactly where he was before he’d even opened his arms and instantly pulled her tighter. 

She awoke not long after, opening her eyes and straightaway closing them again, nuzzling closer to the Doctor’s shirt and breathing him deeply. The hand that he had previously rested on her waist drifted up to her hair, brushing a few errant tendrils back from her eyes. Rose let out a light sigh of contentment but managed to curtail the weak moan of pleasure threatening to work its way up her throat. 

Several minutes passed, quietly enmeshed in each other, until Rose pulled her face back a little and distractedly began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, keeping her face bowed down as she spoke. “Thanks for staying.”

“Of course,” he mumbled into her hair. “How are you feeling?”

Sighing, Rose turned in his arms so she was facing away from him. His grip tightened around her waist and her gaze dropped to his fingertips, sinking into the lining of his skin. The crevices that lined his hands radiated outward like a sunburst, like a ripple, like hairline fractures in a mirror. “Dunno. Fine, I guess. Numb….”

Rose could feel the Doctor’s hesitant intake of breath through her back before he spoke. “Do you want to see your mum?” 

She shook her head slowly. “No, I’m not ready for that yet. Mum…she'd be a little intense.” 

The Doctor made a noise of understanding and was glad she couldn't see his halfhearted eye roll. “Do you want to talk about…what you want to do? I know it’s still fresh, it’s fine to—"

“No, I… Look, I know what I should do and what I don’t want to do, and…well they’re the same thing, yeah?” He nodded into her hair and she toyed with the hem of the sheets. “And I just don’t know how to resolve that. My head or my heart." 

He said nothing and she blew out a deep breath, the air catching on the edge of her lips and vibrating. "No, that’s not right; my heart and my head agree, sort of. I just don’t know how I could—no, it’s more that just what I want. It's what's best. For…for everyone. I mean, I’m twenty years old; what right do I have to make any sort of decision like that? Isn't my brain, like, not fully developed yet?"

His hearts broke at the pain she was going through, knew she was right: no woman should have to go through this decision, regardless of age or resources. A decision for which there were no right choices and only a lifetime of consequences. 

But he’d been completely serious earlier; he’d support her in any way he could. If age and fate weren't on her side, then he'd make up for it by offering her every possible genre of emotional and physical resource. It may not be his fault (though he'd continue to doubt that), but neither was it hers. He _would_ take responsibility for their actions, would follow her to the ends of the universe if she let him.

Well, he already did that. 

He’d settle down on Earth, _anywhere_ for her. People assumed he bounced around planet and galaxy because it was his nature and he was happy to let them believe that. But the slow life, the simple life, the street corner at two in the morning… If Rose was there, it would be more precious than an infinite multiverse of places to run. Screw detachment: he was changing his allegiance over to Bowlby and the attachment theorists. The superlative power of social bonds…

“No, you don’t deserve to have to make this decision. No one does." He had to be strong for her, her secure base: pulling back and forcing her to make such a life-changing decision all on her own was not what she needed right now. It wasn't like she was struggling with the consequences of her actions: she was dealing with the repercussions of someone else's unimaginable actions against her. 

“Want me to run you through the options?” he asked softly. As she nodded, her neck brushed against his mouth. He wet his lips.

“Okay. The first is…” He stopped, clearing his throat and trying to school his voice into something that more closely resembled calm reassurance than flailing disconcertion. The sheets were tangled up at his feet and he spend a few moments extricating himself and re-arranging the bed clothes. 

“The first is termination," the Doctor finally continued once his feet were free of the confines of their oppressive cotton prison. "It’s not even an embryo at this stage, more of a blastocyst comprising only about three to four hundred cells. Not much different from those frozen in egg banks and implanted during _in vitro_ fertilization during your time. I’d go with you, if you wanted or we could pick up Jackie, to the most technologically advanced clinic in the universe for the procedure. At this stage, it would be painless and with minimal recovery time. And it certainly wouldn’t risk any future pregnancies.”

Rose nodded in his arms; glad she was facing away from him for this, that he couldn’t see the tears that were reasserting themselves. The only thing that was holding back the dam was the composure of his professional and emotion-devoid words and she appreciated it more than he would ever know. 

“Right.” He took a deep breath. “The second option is adoption. We can thoroughly vet and interview for the very best parents anyone could ask for. You’d have to go through with the whole pregnancy and birth, but I would make sure you had the best medical care possible, even if I, um, if I had to do it myself.” A blush spread across his face and ears and once more he was glad she couldn't see his face. “It could be an open adoption, meaning you could theoretically visit or at least be in contact with the family, or you could choose to keep the adoption closed. Honestly, you could even do all this without telling Jackie or anyone, no one would even have to know. I don’t think that would be the best idea, mind you, but your choice.”

The rhythm of her breathing became increasingly dysregulated in his arms when he finished with this option and he knew she was struggling to control her tears. He stayed quiet until her tears mostly subsided, rubbing her arms in long, solid strokes from her bicep to her fingertips. 

Through the dim light, he idly moved his eyes across the smattering of photographs decorating her vanity table, tucked into corners and propped up against the mirror. They were mostly recent, scenes of distant galaxies she could never show her friends back on Earth and even a few blurry snapshots of his leather jacket retreating in the distance, but there were also photos of her mum and a couple of large family scenes. The picture that captured his eye was one of Jackie and Pete holding a newborn Rose between in their laps, staring at her with wonder and trepidation, like pink and mottled bundle was both a winning lottery ticket and a ticking time bomb. 

Blowing out a long, controlled breath before beginning on the final option, his strokes along her arm became thumb-drawn circles. This would be the hardest option to remain emotionally neutral while describing. 

“And, finally, you can keep the baby. I'm game if you are. Believe it or not, I love babies. Speak baby, actually. Could come in quite handy, that." If he was hoping for a small smile at that, he didn't get it. "We can still travel, either with a hired caregiver or taking turns, and I _am_ moderately successful at finding peaceful locations when necessary.” He did manage to coax a small smile out of her with that last line; he could feel it tug at the skin of her temples above his other hand. “And/or we can find a home base somewhere like Earth, could get a beautiful flat, or a house, or—ooh, a castle with a moat somewhere in the countryside. Um, a camper van? No. Not a camper van. _Although_ let's keep that in mind for holidays…"

A shaky snort rose up to his ears and he smiled in response. "I’ll take care of you, Rose, I promise I won’t run off. Wellll, if there was an intergalactic emergency. But you could come too! Leave the baby with Jackie or someone; safer anyway.”

As he knew it would be, it was her tipping point. She surrendered entirely to convulsive sobs as he finished, but as he hurriedly turned her toward him and embraced her tightly, he noticed that she was weeping with a painful half-smile: a cry tempered by relief or maybe hope, he wasn’t sure. But he knew that his shoulders were a little lighter as he caressed her hair with the confident knowledge that he could make things better for her. That he could finally save her and pay back a fraction of his debt to this beautiful human. At the exact opposite of cost for him. 

Rose disentangled herself from his now soaking and grey-stained shirt and lightly punched his chest with a weak and watery smile. “You bastard, how did you manage to make all those options almost decent?”

His smile was so achingly loving that she knew she had to look down again or risk losing herself in his earnest eyes. But it was this smile that she suddenly reeled away from, too saccharine and open to be the babbling, closed book ‘I don’t do domestics’ Doctor she knew. The breadth of all the changes that had occurred in the last few hours, especially in the time since she’d woken up, pounded against her body and she felt strangled, smothered. They were nestled in her bed talking about raising a baby together, for Christ’s sake. Waves of nausea swam across her eyes and she wrenched herself roughly out of his arms and ran for the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to raise the seat and evacuate the contents of her stomach. 

He was right behind her and started to lift her hair from her neck and she couldn’t breathe and she was burning up and she couldn’t handle him being there another second and—

“Stop!” she snapped between violent expulsions, pushing him away but softening slightly at his worried expression. “No, just… I just need to be alone…” She could see his uncertainty and begged again, with desperation. "Please, just…"

\---

He jumped back from her side like a startled animal. “No, of course, you… I… I’m going,” he stuttered, stumbling into bathtub and then the doorframe as he darted backward out of her ensuite. White spots were beginning to encroach his vision and he barely avoided breaking into a sprint down the corridor passageway in his search for an empty, unused room without any emotional infusions: Rose's room was in the same hall as the vacated bedrooms of all his previous companions and friends and it was too long of a distance to its end. Eventually, he turned a corner and found an empty storage closet. 

Closing the door behind him, he sank to the ground against the door and placed his head between his bent knees, his hearts clenching and pulsing wildly in his chest. _Stupid, stupid Doctor,_ he muttered to himself reproachfully. He’d gone too far his childish attempts to make her feel better, forcing himself unwanted into her life, in her bed… No wonder she’d pushed him away: repulsive, old, over-eager alien… His respiration rate rocketed when he imagined the scene to come; Rose demanding he take him home, wrinkling her nose disgustedly at his clinginess, at his imposition into her private affairs. 

When the room started spinning in front of him, he finally engaged his respiratory bypass but it was too late to prevent the full-blown panic attack in progress. 

He was going to die right here in this musty old room and she’d be trapped in the vortex carrying a rapist’s baby and he’d allowed it to happen and he couldn’t remember if he’d finished activating Emergency Programme 278 in the event of his death while they were parked in the vortex and now it was too late and he’d killed his entire species and billions of children and he killed his own children and now he was going to die alone and he deserved it and… 

It had been at least a year since he’d experienced a panic attack on this scale, since before Rose, and it barreled through his body relentlessly for at least twenty minutes of self-flagellation and disjointed preparations for annihilation. Gallifryean panic attacks were, of course, quite impressive in their stamina. 

But his racing thoughts eventually decelerated and his brain caught on that his lungs didn’t need to gasp desperately for air. And so he found himself opening his eyes to discover his arms and legs curled up in foetal position on the dusty floor and his head in Rose’s lap. 

_Ah_. 

He froze, but she calmly continued stroking his hair. “That’s some hair gel you have there, Doctor. Feels like nothing at all, it’s so soft. Or is your hair, like, naturally pliable or something? You barely had any hair before, but it did always seem impeccable. Do you cut it yourself, or do you go to some sort of intergalactic barber? A travelling hairdresser? Wait, does your hair even grow? It seems a little longer than when you first changed, maybe.”

She was asking questions to give him something to focus on, didn't expect any answers, and he was massively appreciative. He listened, the tranquility of her voice's cadence washing over him, but he still couldn't relax, his body tense and ready for fight or flight. Or freeze. 

“’s okay, Doctor. I know a panic attack when I see one. I think the TARDIS was worried too, this was the first door I came across; aren't the storage closets usually down another corridor?”

She stopped playing with his hair when he still remained reticent and he imaged her biting her lip. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just…overwhelmed suddenly, and hot, and puking my guts out. You were being so amazing and compassionate and I don’t deserve it but the reality of a baby, inside me, just smacked me in the face." 

The Doctor knew this moment was a crossroads; he could see the ever-moving timelines hesitate in their cycle. He _should_ pull back, shake off her comforts, and place distance between them while he still could. He could still take care of her and her baby without becoming enmeshed, without presenting his hearts on a stone for flaying. The default, he thought dryly. And it was tempting, to run away from it all, like he’d been doing all his life. He who flees to lofty heights can never fear rejection or loss. 

But he was tired of fleeing. And fighting. And freezing.

So instead he surrendered fully to the human doing her best to fight off his demons, his muscles falling limp under her ministrations as he lay back in her lap. “You deserve the universe,” he murmured. 

He drifted off into exhausted semi-consciousness for a few minutes, oddly shaped micro-sleep dreams entering and leaving his mind like horses on a carousel. All was snug silence for several moments, and then the Doctor slowly began to rouse himself and slowly sat up, cognisant of his lightheadedness, and pulled himself to standing. He held out his hand to Rose, still sitting cross legged on the floor and leaning back on her hands to look up at him, and pulled her up too. 

“Thank you, Rose,” he said sincerely, saying no more on the subject not because he was trying to shove it away in the deep fissures of his mind but because he knew she understood.

“Look, Rose, I don’t ever want to overwhelm you. It obviously goes without saying that while all of those options I suggested involve me, I will of course also take you home immediately if you want and you can do any of those three options your own way….” He swallowed nervously, but had already committed himself to not holding back, “But I’d miss you, you know. I love having you here, and my choice would always be for you to stay, whatever that means. If you want.”

She wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest. “I’d miss you too, Doctor. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere, not as long as you want me here, anyway.”

Squeezing her gently, he stepped back and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Right. There’s been far too much angst around here in the last 12 hours. We’re taking a break. Four hours, lots of chocolate and entertainment, no decisions, no anxiety.” Rose nodded her agreement gratefully. 

“And the first person to cry does the dishes tonight,” he warned with a smile, pointing up and down at her mock sternly. She snorted in response. 

“So, Rose Tyler,” he drawled, rolling her name off her tongue like honey, “What shall we do with ourselves? Hot air balloon over the Loire Valley? The Vatican catacombs? No, that’s sort of depressing… “ Suddenly his eyes lit up: Disneyland had popped into his mind and immediately dismissed since the rides would be out of the question in her early stage of pregnancy, but that line of thought had led him to a brilliant alternative. 

“Nope, I’ve got it. Go shower, find some shorts and flip-flops and meet me in the console room. Quick, quick,” he admonished as he herded her back toward her room, bouncing to the console room to set the coordinates. Passing the wardrobe room on his way, he was struck with a whim he knew would make her smile. 

\---

Humming a pop song that had been popular when she had last been home to distract herself, Rose raced through her shower and morning routine, resisting the urge to linger her gaze over her obviously still flat belly. Browsing through her wardrobe, she couldn’t find her one pair of shorts (laundry, she remembered, she’d worn them in…Oh…Honolulu) and instead settled on a denim skirt and t-shirt. Slipping on a pair of black hot pants under her skirt (she’d learned _that_ lesson early on in their travels), she found a matching pair of flip-flops and wandered out to find the Doctor. 

She was about to congratulate herself on her lack of rumination during those fifteen minutes, but all thoughts flew out of her head as she caught sight of the Doctor. In dark, destroyed blue jeans. And a white t-shirt. And flip-flops. Sunglasses hanging at his collar. 

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. Kept staring as he turning to her with a slow grin. “Rose!” he exclaimed with delight, as if they’d been apart for more than a quarter of an hour. “Ready for some fun?”

But her mouth refused to close as she dazedly pointed up and down in the general direction of his clothes. She thought she saw a smirk pass his lips when she unconsciously licked her lips, but he schooled it quickly into a look involving raised eyebrows and innocent eyes. 

“Honestly, you’re acting like you’ve never seen anyone in jeans before…”

“Never seen _you_ in jeans…this you…or ever in blue jeans…”

“Nine hundred years of time and space, Rose, I think it’s safe to assume I’ve worn basic blue jeans before,” he quipped playfully, waggling his eyebrows just a little. 

Rose couldn’t help but laugh, holding up a finger and running back to her room to retrieve the camera from his jacket that was still hanging on her chair. Refusing to leave the TARDIS until he posed for a picture in that frankly sinful ensemble, she finally linked arms with him and they walked together outside. 

A behemoth Roman villa combined with throngs of almost naked tourists clutching meter-long slushy cups was at first disorienting but she quickly put the pieces together.

“Vegas?!” she exclaimed, elatedly.

“Yep,” he confirmed with a grin, “2015; July, I believe.” He reached into his pocket and tossed her a small tube of sun cream. “Here, you’ll need this, it’s peak UVA sun right now, at least 35 degrees centigrade.” 

Ducking into a quieter side street leading to a parking garage, Rose impatiently slathered the cream on her arms and neck but the Doctor refused to let her back onto the Strip without protecting her face as well. Grimacing mainly for effect, she hurriedly rubbed a small amount across her face and slipped out of his hold to skip back to the excitement. Catching sight of her once he caught up, he laughed and used his thumb to dab away a huge white streak across her forehead. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” he commented as he led the way through the forum shops into the mega-hotel, following the signs for the buffet like a treasure hunt. Flashing his psychic paper to bypass the huge queue of hungry (and now slightly cantankerous) tourists, their jaws both dropped at the sight of the bacchanalian feast. The Doctor skipped right over straight to the dessert station, loading his plate high with raspberry tarts, caramelized banana crepes, and cupcakes, but Rose took her time checking out all the food stations, a tiny bit of almost everything ending up on her plate. It didn’t quite go together, a forkful of Pad Thai followed by Cajun chicken, but somehow it worked, probably because everything was so delicious. There was a slight hiccup when the Doctor batted a piece of tuna sashimi out of her hand en route to her open mouth, but the sight of one of the many attendants darting over to retrieve it from the floor almost instantaneously broke the tense air and they laughed at the tableau. 

Bursting at the seams and feeling rather sluggish, they eventually stumbled back into the sunshine and started ambling up the strip, arms casually interlinked. The Doctor scanned the adverts plastered on the casinos they passed. “How about a show? Beatles, Michael Jackson, umm… something involving half-naked acrobats and corn? You can even dress up, if you like. Proper outing.”

Rose laughed ruefully at food-distended stomach. “Maybe a muumuu…” she groaned playfully. Looking around, she added under her breath, “Seems to be a popular choice around here. Hmm… You know, I’d really just like to walk that main road with all the lights, if that’s alright? Not sure how I’d manage to sit still for a show when there’s so much to do out here.”

“A saunter down the strip it is,” he agreed, rolling the words happily along his tongue, "a stroll down the strip on a sunny and sweltering Saturday in the summer."

Walking the length of the strip was easily said than done, and it was getting dark by the time they made it to Luxor’s pyramid near the far end. The walk back on the other side of the street was surreal with the multitude of flashing lights and fountain displays. And the Doctor in a t-shirt and jeans. 

Holding his hand, she was suddenly struck by how people passing them on the street must see them; a normal, happy couple on holiday. Rose bit her lip as her good mood shattered in front of her eyes, the twinkling lights suddenly gaudy and insistent, the mass of humanity encroaching in her space, brushing against her arms relentlessly. There were too many people, too much noise, too much movement and lights and smells and gravitational forces pressing against her skin and she couldn't do it and she had to stop. 

She halted abruptly on the pavement, the Doctor yo-yoing back to her side and the parade of tourists parting around them and then returning to the middle as if they were enclosed in a bubble. “I think I want to go back now,” she said in a small voice, stalwartly staring down at the tiny patch of pavement under her feet where no visual stimuli assaulted her senses. 

The Doctor didn’t miss a beat, tugging her into a nearby side door and leading them wordlessly back to the TARDIS by route off the less crowded halls of a hotel hallway. He thankfully didn’t question her or check her over, just held her hand tightly and squeezed it occasionally; he understood that she just needed to get back home. _Home,_ she thought dazedly, wondering when an alien's bigger-on-the-inside police box had supplanted her mum’s flat as her home base.

\---

Once inside, Rose wanted to head straight to her room and collapse, but she turned and smiled weakly at the Doctor before she disappeared down the corridor. “I’m just tired, going to take a quick kip.” She paused, forcing her lips to stretch into a wider smile, and pointed her finger at him. “You’d better still be in those jeans when I wake up. I’ve got your jacket in my room, I’m holding it hostage…”

He grinned and flashed her a wink before turning to the console and pulling the various levers and pumps to dematerialize them into the vortex. 

“You’ve got my sonic in there too, " he commented. "I didn't even think about it. Imagine, a whole afternoon without the need for it once. Tame day…”

Rose cocked her head to the side. “It was a perfect day. Thanks, Doctor.”

He knew the expression on his face fell into something so pleased that felt the need to turn away, ostensibly to press a button on the other side of the console, so she wouldn’t see him grinning like a lovesick fool. Glancing up, he expected to see her walking away, but still she hesitated in the archway. 

“Umm…” She was playing for time, clearly unsure what she was trying to say. “You know, maybe I’m not really all that tired after all…maybe we could try a show after all…”

The Doctor just smiled gently and strolled over to her side, offering his arm and leading her down the corridor. “Yes, you are. We walked miles out there in the hot sun. And it was longer than it looked: all those colossal hotels along a straight street play quite the visual illusion, your brain thinks you're just walking between two buildings when in reality the hotels are big enough to take up several blocks each. Take a nap and then we can reassess the show situation when you wake up.”

He nudged opened her bedroom door and gestured her inside, about to turn away, but again she hung back, swallowing and looking back and forth between the bed and the Doctor. 

“I, umm…I just know that I’m not going to be able to sleep though… Like if I stop, just for a minute, everything will hit me full force…”

 _Ah_. That was something the Doctor understood intimately. The instinct to run, the fear of stopping. “Tell you what, I’ve got a manual I wanted to re-read, was going to the library next to grab it. Why don’t I just read it here, in that chair there, while you sleep? I’ll make sure you don’t think too much.”

Rose bit her lip, probably not wanting to be a bother or some other silly notion, so he crossed his arms and regarded her suspiciously. “Besides, I’m not taking my eyes off you; I’m certainly not doing the dishes tonight.”

Satisfied, Rose finally nodded and whispered her thanks. She shuffled toward her ensuite and the Doctor took the opportunity to head to the library and search for that…manual. _Advanced Bipedal Biological Reproduction: Vol. 34, Pre-Episolian Humans_. Thankfully in Gallifryean. 

She was already curled up under the covers when he returned, so he wordlessly adjusted the high backed chair, slipped on his glasses, and settled in for some light reading. Ha. Halfway through the chapter on uterine implantation, he noticed Rose tossing and turning, her brows furrowed. “Rose…” he warned gently, recognizing the signs of worry racing through her mind. She let out a deep sigh but didn’t open her eyes, pushing the covers back from her body slightly. He removed his glasses as he considered her, distractedly tapping one of the earpieces against his lips. 

“Rose? Do you need some help falling asleep? I can, um, do it telepathically, if you want…it doesn’t hurt and I wouldn't be reading your thoughts or anything.” He fully expected her to refuse, but to his surprise she nodded, her eyes still closed and resting on her pillow. 

Her thoughts must be pretty vicious to agree to telepathy, he mused grimly as he closed his glasses into the book as a placeholder. Gingerly sitting down on the bed next to her, he heard her suck in a ragged breath but said nothing, tenderly brushing back some wisps of hair plastered to her cheek before cupping her head, his thumb resting light on her right temple. 

Dendritic tendrils undulated across their shared mindscape, eagerly seeking her axons to commune with, but the Doctor tore his fingers away, stunned, when he found his highly potentiated synaptic tags already present across her NMDA receptors. He stared at her, aghast: he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had never been in her mind before, would have remembered such a significant event. And yet, her neurons were ready for him, showed indisputable evidence of his previous presence. He didn’t need to forge a connection: there was already a fragile bridge in place.

Most types of telepathy for his species were purely physical in nature, unlike those often found in stronger telepathic species. Rather than harnessing airborne Kappa waves, most mental communication for Gallifryeans tapped into through their extremely sensitive tactile perception systems. Specialized neurons in their fingertips were utilised to transverse the person-to-person boundary, linking into the other person’s neural network through Merkel cells in the outermost epidermis. It was easiest to connect through the proximate temporal bone where the barrier between the skin and the brain was the thinnest, especially in under-developed telepaths like humans, but technically any skin-to-skin contact was adequate. One created, these connections operated much the same as anywhere else in the body, relying on long-term potentiation to recall prior connections as part of the neuroplastic learning process. 

Each person he had ever connected with telepathically had their own set of unique synaptic tags in their brains as well as in his own that became stronger and more durable with each connection, like a memory trace. They weren't bonds, a slightly different process, and were different from the innate long-range connections he had with other Gallifryeans. They were more like neural calling cards. 

And Rose was already in possession of his calling card, and he hers, meaning that he had indisputably been in her mind previously. With two sinking hearts, he realised it could only have been sometime during that missing hour in Honolulu, when—

Swallowing, he brought his thumb back up to her temple and expertly manipulated her receptors to increase their production of adenosine and melatonin and then inhibited the relevant neurons in her brainstem. Her muscles went limp and her head tilted forward, fast asleep.

Had be been trying to comfort her? Is that why he had connected with her in the dark space of his memory? His jaw was clenched as he remained frozen, kneeling by her side. 

Perhaps he had desperately distracted her using telepathy? It was extremely taboo to connect with someone without their consent, but truthfully he would have done it unhesitatingly to spare her that level of pain. Although that would imply that he had to have been touching her, which didn't make sense.

Then again, maybe he used his telepathy for something as simple as sharing an escape plan. Strangely he felt less comfortable with the latter rationale for a telepathic transgression than he did for the distraction or comfort scenario, but then again, it could have been life or death. And of course, she could have consented, he couldn’t know.

Sighing, he stood up and returned the chair, reclaiming his book from the nightstand. _Blastocyte Differentiation_. Brilliant.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose woke up a couple of hours later more rested than she’d ever felt and practically bounced out of bed. It’s hard to be worried when you feel this good, she reflected as she bounded down the corridor looking for the Doctor. _He’d better still be wearing those delicious jeans_. She looked first in the console room and then headed to the galley. Not there either. She finally found him lying on his back in a darkened room a few doors down from her own, the door cracked open with a doorstop. The ground was blanketed in plush green grass and the walls and ceilings were covered in projections of galaxies. 

She lay down next to him, maintaining the silence for a few minutes before speaking. 

“This is gorgeous,” she eventually murmured softly. Something about the room felt sacred, like the swirling expanse of stars demanded reverence. “I've never seen this place."

“It’s usually tucked away, I don’t use it very often anymore. I should. That’s Ophiuchus cluster there,” he said and raised his arm to point, “and to the left is the Corona Borealis supercluster. And there, that tiny little blue blur, that’s you, Rose Tyler, resident of the Milky Way.” He lowered his arm and turned his head to face her.

“And what about you, Doctor?” she asked quietly. “Where was your planet?”

He was silent for a moment. She scratched her leg and was about to apologise for asking or change the subject when he finally spoke. “Gallifrey? Oh, it was in the Milky Way too, on the other end from Earth. Not so far apart, you and I, at least at this scale.”

Rose smiled and found his hand, squeezing lightly. “I like that. You know, you’ve never told me the name of your planet before now.”

“Oh? Well, no time like the present, eh?”

He was being uncharacteristically open and she wanted to ask him more, but she failed to come up with any questions that weren’t insensitive or depressing, deciding to leave it. Hopefully he would tell her more on his own someday. 

They lay there peacefully for a few minutes, but the topic of the day started trickling into their minds until it was impossible to ignore. Besides, she was in a good state of mind and fully rested; there couldn't be an ideal time to think about these things, but this might be the closest she would come. 

“Do you…”  
“I’ve been…”

They both spoke at once, and chuckling turned onto their sides, hands supported their heads, to face each other. Their hands remained clasped between them.

“You first,” he said.

“I only know one thing right now…” She hesitated but he nodded encouragingly, “I just can’t…” With a deep breath, she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m only sure about one thing, but it’s a big thing, a slam your face into the wall, kick you in the crotch kind of thing. Even if it _is_ only a tiny clump of cells right now, I can't... I don't disagree with a woman's right to choose, it's just…I can't choose that. That’s not my choice.”

Her voice broke at the last words and her lips wobbled precariously, but she clenched her jaw until the pulses of ache subsided. The hand holding up the Doctor’s head was tightly clenched, but he maintained a gentle, reassuring grip on her hand between their bodies as he nodded reassuringly. He looked like he wanted nothing more than enfold her in his arms and squeeze the pain away, but he held himself back, knowing she had more to say, more impossible decisions to make. His eyes never faltered from hers and she wondered idly if he had even blinked in the last few minutes. 

Rose licked her dry lips and swallowed futilely at the lump in her throat. “But, I also don’t know if I can raise a baby. A baby! I’m twenty years old, and… I know you offered to help, and that was so unbelievably kind and noble, and I trust you…but I can’t do that to you. I don’t think I can even do it to myself....” She closed her eyes fleetingly but continued, “Maybe if it wasn’t…maybe in different circumstances… And I know I should be stronger, that I’m being cowardly at least to some extent, but…”

Gently releasing his hand from her increasingly anemic grasp and raising it to cup her cheek, he soothingly brushed his fingers along her jaw. “Rose, there’s no ‘right’ choice here, no black or white questions, brave or weak answers.” 

They were ensconced so close together, a fortress against the outside world, that his deep exhalation sent the strands of hair draped across her neck fluttering. “If you’re set against termination though, that’s the only resolution you need to come to for now. We can research adoption agencies, get the process started, but it will always be your decision, up till the very end. And we don’t have to start talking to agencies for another couple of months, they won’t even open a case, at least in your time, until you’re in your second trimester.”

A tiny flash of alarm crossed her face, her eyes flickering down to her abdomen and back up to him. “No, no,” he reassured her, “that’s much more of a risk in your time; we’ve got much better medical technology on board, it’ll…the baby will be fine, I’ll make sure of it.”

She nodded slowly. “Doctor? I…Thank you for being so amazing about all this, I don’t know what I’d do… God, if you’d told me a week ago we’d be here, taking about babies and… I would have laughed, would be sure you’d run away and never look back. I guess I know you wouldn’t, really, but…”

“I might've run away, Rose, but I would always run right back. Still might run, to be honest, but I _will_ come running right back. Got that?”

Wordlessly she nodded, shifting closer and burying her head in the crook of his shoulder. “I don’t deserve you”.

The Doctor scoffed as he wrapped his arm around her, “I think you’ll find, Rose Tyler, that I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” 

They lay silently in the bed of cool grass, pressed flush together and a weighted blanket of decisions and indecisions to tuck them in.

\---

When he noticed Rose wiggling her arm gingerly, numb from being folded under her head, the Doctor bowed his head to kiss her on the forehead before leaping to his feet and offering his hand. “I didn’t think it possible ever again after that buffet, but my stomach’s grumbling. Are you hungry?”

Rose considered. “I could eat. Truthfully, my stomach’s all churned up, but I think there’s some hunger lurking under all that.”

They wound a leisurely path toward the galley, arm in arm; it was a little unclear who was holding whom up, more like pressed together against gravity. Stepping through the doorway the Doctor swept his eyes up and down at her, contemplative. “What do you fancy? I think there’s some—“

Rose interrupted him, hopefully. “Chips?”

The sides of his mouth quirked up. “We can always do chips. Stocked up last time before we left your mum’s last time.” Opening the freezer with a flourish, Rose laughed at the rows of McCain oven chips residing therein. “But!” he continued, “we’ve also been neglecting our leafy greens and um…folates. So, we’ll do chips and salad. Deal?”

His words were casual but he was speaking just a little too quickly, scratching the back of his neck, and Rose couldn’t help a smile creep up her face. “Deal. You plum…”

After dinner, during which a slightly flustered Time Lord plopped a huge glass of milk in front of her but make no mention of it, they left the dishes to soak and bid each other their goodnights. Neither was tired but Rose eyed the giant Roman bathtub in her mind’s eye with longing. She was less than impressed when he scared her with talk of neural tube defects and recommended on a shower instead.

And, well, he couldn’t exactly follow her there. Images foliated his own mind’s eye, intense enough that he halted in his stride to the console for a second. Stop it, he reprimanded himself. She was _pregnant_ , the last thing she needed or wanted was a randy alien stalking her in the background. These thoughts were inappropriate, beyond words, even if ( _when_ ) she wasn’t growing an infant. Just because they had abruptly plunged into bloody folic acid supplementation, and comforting caresses, and forehead kisses, and… He lost his train of thought. Oh, right. Just because they were talking about baby-raising possibilities, because he offered to play house and give up everything, everything he didn’t want anyway, anything to keep her close… Okay, that train had definitely been derailed. 

Exhaling a long, measured breath, he turned around and walked back to the wardrobe room to change into one of his familiar suits before he started tinkering, desperate for something to remind him that he was a lofty Time Lord, that he kept above it all; _Ubermensch_ to the end. He would support her through this, there was no question of that; he would just have to do a better job of distancing his hearts. In the blink of an eye she would die, her child would die, and he couldn't become more desperately attached than he already was. 

\---

Jackie rolled her eyes as she heard the familiar wheeze and groan coming from the living room but couldn’t quite stop the smile rising on her lips. Sound of the universe, he’d proudly cooed once. Ha, more like the universe with pneumonia… 

Flicking the switch on the kettle, she made her way over to the giant blue excuse for a timeship unhurried, knowing it always took them ages to actually get their acts together and open the door. And wait she did, until she finally heard a loud noise, of protest or frustration maybe, and Rose suddenly stumbled out the door.

“Mum!”

Enfolding her daughter in a tight hug, one that was returned a tad more enthusiastically than usual, she looked around and then at the closed TARDIS door. What had they been up to now, she wondered; murderous table legs, monkey-ostrich aliens intent on turning Earth into a zoo? She pulled back and looked Rose over. Intact. That was a start.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad to see you, it’s been weeks.” To her credit, Jackie tried to tone down the whine in her voice but knew she wasn’t entirely successful. “And where’s the child abductor himself then?”

A pained look crossed Rose’s face. “Don’t, Mum. Please.”

“Sorry, love. Bad joke. But where is he? Do I need to go in there myself and force him to show his face?”

Rose let out a short laugh. “I’m sure he’d love that. Don’t worry, he’s coming. Told him he didn’t need to but he insisted.” A mischievous smile played on her lips. “I think he’d really appreciate a big, wet kiss from you when he comes out…”

“I bet he would. We’ll see if he deserves it.” They giggled together and Jackie steered her into the kitchen. “The kettle’s on, tea or coffee?”

Rose bit the skin on the side of her thumb, apparently flummoxed by the magnitude of that question. Probably didn’t have a proper teatime floating out there in that rickety spaceship, Jackie mused.

“Thanks, Mum, but I’m not all that thirsty. I’ll make the Doctor a cuppa though, he rabbits on and on about that vanilla chai tea Aunt Julia brought you back from Portugal.” 

Rose rummaged around in the tea cupboard for that overly sweet tea no one else ever wanted, spying the new box of peppermint tea in her quest. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind trying this,” she decided, tossing Jackie the box. 

She watched her daughter prepare the cups of tea with aplomb, reflecting that maybe all this space travel was doing her some good. She looked a little tired, had lost a little bit of weight maybe, but otherwise Jackie marveled how much she had matured in the last year or so (well, two for the rest of the world), more at ease she in her own body. _Self-assured_ , that’s what she was. 

“I haven’t seen you in almost a month, sweetheart, how long has it been for you?”

“Um, about that long, maybe 6 weeks… Sorry.”

Rose and Jackie turned when they heard the TARDIS door creak open and the Doctor appeared in the kitchen entrance, awkwardly cradling a bouquet of flowers in one arm and holding a bottle of wine by the stem in his other hand. He looked, for all the world, like a man nervous on a first date.

“Er, hello Jackie. Nice to see you. Um, here,” he blustered and dumped the gifts unceremoniously into her hands. She responded by depositing the proffered items on the table and swiftly crushing him in a tight embrace. The nutty alien was stiff as a board in her arms, but then again she expected nothing less. Releasing him a few seconds past the comfortable time limit, she threw a wink at Rose who was doing her best to suppress a giggle. 

“Yes, um… Right.” 

Jackie’s eagle eyes didn’t miss his searching look at Rose, who shook her head back almost imperceptibly. She watched her bring him his cup of tea, rising up on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear to which he narrowed his eyebrows in response but only nodded to her and took her hand. 

Lover’s spat, Jackie surmised with an inward smirk. As if she didn’t know. Those two, with their constant touches and puppy dog eyes at each other. If they thought she believed their fabrications about the platonic nature of their relationship, well, the pair of them was even dafter than they looked: staring at each other like they were the only two people in the universe, conversing silently with their eyes like words were inadequate. She cleared her throat and they jumped. ‘Just friends’ indeed...

“Yes, well, meanwhile the world keeps spinning.” She paused and adopted her best wheedling tone, dripping in honey. “Will you stay for dinner? I was just at the butcher’s, we can have a proper Sunday roast…”

Rose’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, with Yorkshire puddings?” 

“Of course, sweetheart.” She had them now, she congratulated herself. She pulled open the fridge and scanned its contents. “We’re out of eggs though, could use some more milk actually. I’ll just pop to the shop.” She paused, pointing sternly at Rose. “And you two better still be here when I get back, no swanning off this time.”

But the Doctor waved her off with an eager gleam in his eye. “No, no, I’ll go, won’t be a tick”. He practically bounded out the door like a Labrador puppy, but not without a backward glance for confirmation from Rose. Almost like he was asking permission, Jackie observed amusedly.

“Under leash and collar, that one. How did you manage that, Rose, he’s like putty in your hands…”

Rose sighed, a conflicted look passing her face but a smile playing at her lips. “He’s not, he’s just…I don’t know, sweet…”

Jackie snorted, “Sweet? Whatever you want to call it, sweetheart. I’d call it lovesick.”

Rose sighed again, the smile fading this time. “You know we’re not like that, Mum. Just drop it, okay?”

She rolled her eyes at the level of denial (God, she hoped it was only denial to keep her in the dark: she shuddered to imagine the sexual tension on that bloody spaceship if they really did keep up that pretense in private) but graciously changed the topic, bringing Rose up to date on all the gossip on the estate.

They migrated over to the sofa to chat and drink their tea, and at some point during a particularly long soliloquy about the curious way Francine from 128a introduced herself when she moved in, she noticed that Rose was fast asleep, curled up into the sofa arm with her tea cup cradled between her knees. With a motherly smile, Jackie gently rescued the mug and left her daughter to catch up on some sleep, heading to the kitchen to prep the roast.

The Doctor returned a short while later, burst into the flat laden with so many bags that the madman must have had to make two trips up the stairs. His eyes immediately sought out Rose, and such an adoring smile passed his lips when he found her sleeping form that Jackie couldn’t stop herself drawing in a sharp breath. It clearly didn’t escape his superman hearing powers and he shook himself back to the present, dragging the shopping bags into the kitchen. 

Miraculously, he had remembered eggs and milk, but that may have just been because he seemed to have bought out the entire shop. Including two entire shopping bags full of spinach leaves. Jackie rolled her eyes, “And just what am I supposed to do with a dozen salmon fillets? Where did you even get fresh fish? You can hardly buy frozen fish fingers at that corner shop…”

“Ah, well, I may have stopped by the fishmongers too. And the green grocer.”

Jackie chortled at his attempt at nonchalance but decided, for once, to say nothing of the overzealous alien’s attempts and shooed him out of the kitchen so she could start cooking. Ostensibly unpacking one of the bags by the kitchen door, she watched him sink down at Rose’s side, hover his face near her ear while murmuring something, and then draw her into himself so that she was wrapped around him. A pang of heartache and longing hit Jackie and she turned away, back into the kitchen to start chopping vegetables. 

And clean some spinach for a salad she decided, resigned. 

Rose was still asleep when the cooker timer beeped, the Doctor watching some dull science documentary (and laughing, for reasons unknown) while he traced lazy circles on her arm. He instantly nodded in understanding when Jackie peeked her head out to warn them that dinner was almost ready though, flicking off the telly and gently nudging Rose awake. Indistinct murmurs reached Jackie’s ears and she half-watched them, still wrapped up in each other. She looked up sharply, concerned, when she noticed her daughter’s face becoming increasingly agitated. With a quick glance over to Jackie, Rose stood up and dragged the Doctor over to a far corner, lightly gripping his forearms as they continued to speak in hushed tones, their faces almost touching. He finally ducked his head down, possibly in defeat, and drew her into a reassuring hug, reaching for one of her hands and walking together to the dinner table. 

Jackie watched Rose warily through the meal; she was acting decidedly cagey and only picking at the food on her plate. She caught her opening her mouth as if to speak on several instances but quickly snapping it closed. The Doctor shot her significant looks whenever this happened, but said nothing. Dropping her napkin on the floor, Jackie leaned under to retrieve it. Just as she’d suspected, their hands were even now clasped together under the table, the Doctor stroking her thumb in a steady rhythm. Must be left-handed, she mused, or, knowing him, ambidextrous. 

“Alright, Rose. Spit it out, what happened? You two idiots are acting like the world’s ending or something.”

The Doctor smiled at that, “Nope, I’m pleased to say that, for once, it’s perfectly safe.”

A horrified thought flashed into Jackie’s head. “Are you sick, Rose? Oh, God, I told you it wasn’t safe out there…” She jumped up and rushed over to Rose’s side, frantically feeling her forehead, cupping her face to check her eyes, but Rose brushed her away. 

“Mum, I’m fine, I promise. Nothing’s wrong.” Rose glanced at the Doctor, who was sitting back in her chair watching her. “Just a tiring trip the other day, that’s all. Stop worrying”

“But Rose, you’ve barely touched your roast, I know it’s your favorite, and he’s stuck to you like glue and—”

“Mum, it’s fine, alright? Here, look-“ she scolded, taking a rather large bite of beef. Jackie watched in cautious amusement as Rose promptly gagged and coughed, finally relaxing and laughing lightly when her daughter shot to the bathroom and started retching it back up. 

“She was always doing this as a kid, she was. She'd shove entire apple slices or chicken nuggets down her gob and then vomit them back up again. We had to work on _chewing_ —" Jackie yelled this word with emphasis to Rose, still in the bathroom, "—for ages. The gag reflex on that one…” She shot a sly look at the Doctor. “But I’m sure that’s not news to you.”

The look on his face was priceless, as was his choking and spluttering (even though she was pretty sure he hadn’t taken a bite since Rose’s dash to the toilet). Dropping his napkin on the table, he studiously avoided Jackie’s eye and hurried off uncomfortably to check on Rose.


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor smacked his head into shelf above his library armchair with a start, a bloodcurdling scream echoing through the TARDIS so loud he had to assume his ship was amplifying it. Throwing his book to the ground at some point, he sprinted to Rose’s room, anxious as the loud and frantic screams continued. Barreling past the cracked open door, he saw her laying frozen on her back, her arms folded defensively around her face in terror. 

“Rose. Rose! Wake up!” he had to almost shout over her cries, shaking her softly and then more forcefully. “It’s just a dream, just a dream,” he whispered urgently as she snapped open her eyes and scrambled away from him with dread. “It’s me, the Doctor, you’re okay, I promise…”

She drew in a pained and raspy breath, hyperventilating for a couple of seconds before beginning to calm down enough for him to capture her in a tight hug as he knelt on the bed, rocking her back and forth. “Shhh, it’s okay now,” he murmured in her ear. 

When she’d calmed down sufficiently, he draw back, lowered himself fully, and brushed away her tears with the side of his thumb. Stroking her hair, he was quiet for a few moments. “Rose, are you…are you remembering things? Is that what you were dreaming about?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer and tried to dampen the rising urge to kick a wall or begin a murderous rampage.

Still a little dazed, Rose tried to recall the details of her dream, saturated as it was with fear. “I don’t think so…” She closed her eyes as it all suddenly came back to her, slammed into her chest like a wrecking ball against a condemned building. “No, I was dreaming about combat I think. A battlefield of people in long robes abruptly crumbling to ash, to dust, like they were made of sand… But the dust was golden and it swirled around in the darkness, seeking… I don't know what, but searching for something. Trees and plants too, an entire black plain of ash and rubble… And then I was alone, choking on the remains…”

A funny expression passed over his face and disappeared just as quickly. “That’s…Well, it was just a dream, but…” he paused hesitantly, “Rose, how would you feel about talking to a psychologist or grief counselor? So much has happened…you…well, sometimes it comes out in dreams and it can help to talk to someone neutral who can—"

Rose shook her head emphatically and interrupted him. “I’m fine, really… What exactly would I say anyway? I don’t remember anything and I’ve made my decision about the baby, so…” She trailed off, flopping back against the pillows and covering her eyes with her forearm.

He gently moved her arm away from her face and shifted closer. “It might help, Rose. Just because you don't remember anything doesn't mean you're not living with the consequences. Or that you can't imagine what happened, that your mind can’t stitch together scenarios at night… But you don’t have to, obviously, just promise me you’ll tell me if you change your mind; if things pile up, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes already starting to drift shut again. “Doctor?” she asked with closed eyes, “Will you, um, stay for a little bit? I just…”

He was no stranger to nightmares, nightmares, in fact, eerily similar to the one she was describing, and he knew exactly what she was asking. He only hesitated a second before toeing off his shoes and shucking his jacket. He slipped under the covers and shifted her so that she was facing away from him, laying his arm lightly over her hips but otherwise not touching. 

“Thanks, I—" she started dozily, but he cut her off softly.

“Shhh, go to sleep, Rose.” 

Taking care to fortify his blood-brain barrier against the relentless invasion of her heady scent, highly concentrated on the back of her neck, he closed his eyes too. So much for distancing himself from her, he thought dryly: he’d been anything but in these past seven weeks. Snuggling up to her on Jackie’s sofa, holding her hair back and rubbing her back as she vomited her guts in response to the meat (she’d gagged even on the smell of animal protein ever since), practically spooning her bad dreams away tonight… 

His attachment to this fragile pink and yellow human was more than unprecedented. She wasn’t the first companion of which he’d been fond; he had loved most of them in their own ways. But Rose was the first to break down his self-imposed barriers without even trying; the first he had ever been compelled to touch unnecessarily; the first to make him consider the advantages of staying still; the first he had imagined naked, writhing under him as he trailed his lips up the inside of her thigh; the first he ached to inhale, to taste as she moaned his name—

Right. Staying awake tonight while she was in his arms was _not_ going to work. Tweaking some internal regulatory mechanisms, he manipulated his brain into initiating a few hours sleep. Enough time that she’d be past the danger-zone for night terrors and he could confidently leave her and… He didn’t know what, get back to his book? Tinker? Cold shower, maybe. Truthfully, any option seemed lackluster compared to the current state of affairs.

\---

Rose turned over onto her stomach and opened one bleary eye. Catching sight of the Doctor sleeping peacefully, his face so relaxed he looked younger than she did, she smiled and contentedly burrowed further under the covers. 

Ever since a few weeks ago when she’d woken up from that first horrible nightmare, he’d spent the night in her bed, always attempting a respectable distance between their sleeping bodies. Sometimes he’d be gone when she woke up, but other times, like now, she’d be able to observe him unaware, watching the his chest gently rise and fall, his eyes occasionally twitch and then open slowly, a lazy smile slowly taking over his lips. She only had a minute or so to watch him as he awoke almost automatically when she did. She met his smile with one of her own. “Morning.” He hummed something unintelligible and closed his eyes again. 

She recalled the Doctor, back in leather and jeans, chiding her for needing so much sleep, smugly citing how his ‘advanced physiology’ only needed a few hours every two or three days. And yet, here he was, wordlessly crawling into bed with her every night in the recent weeks, keeping the nightmares away (mostly successfully, at that). She knew he was sleeping at least part of the time; she’d woken up occasionally to his sleep-heavy arm draped across her waist, on one occasion, to her intense amusement, to his soft snores. But she didn’t ask, wary she’d scare him off, and they didn’t discuss their sleeping arrangements, went about their bedtime routine like an old married couple co-sleeping for decades. 

And it really was wonderful, she thought, contentedly watching his lips contract unconsciously in his light sleep like a silent prayer. At least until she felt her stomach contract forebodingly. Jumping up, she saw in in her peripheral vision the Doctor open one eye drowsily and track her movement before closing it again. 

He’d quickly learned she wanted to be left to her morning sickness but was okay with him coming in once she’d finished vomiting as long as he didn’t fuss over her too much. Listening out for the sixth gag, which was usually the last, he stretched out across the bed and languidly dragged his feet to sit at the edge. Ruffling his bed head, he briefly harangued himself, as he had every morning for the past few weeks, for falling prey to the temptation of her warm bed yet again, but truth be told, his protestations were only perfunctory by this point. Besides, he reminded himself, as he also did every morning, she was still prone to having those night terrors every night when he wasn't there. Between those and the earlier sleepwalking, he was pretty sure it was a medical necessity he keep vigil at her side. For _her_ sake, of course. 

He meandered to her bathroom, grabbing a clean flannel off the top of a tall pile he’d placed under the sink for this very purpose and running it under warm water. He usually just handed it to her, but detecting greater than usual exhaustion this morning, forehead resting on the seat cover as she recovered, he knelt beside her and gently mopped her mouth and lifted her hair to access the back of her sweaty neck. Rose groaned appreciatively but didn’t move from her genuflection.

“Remind me when this ends?”

He smiled reassuringly and rubbed her back. “Usually the end of the first trimester. Only about a fortnight to go, give or take…”

She finally moved to sit back against the wall and moaned again. He remained crouched in front of her. “I read last night that ginger helps with human nausea, excellent intestinal spasmolytic - how about a cup of ginger tea? Lots of delicious antioxidants too,” he cajoled, wiggling his eyebrows at her. It was a constant struggle to get her to eat anything besides simple carbohydrates lately; not exactly her fault everything else came right back up, he supposed, but he was mildly worried about her nutrient intake. Luckily, she didn’t object (too vehemently, anyway) to weekly intravenous supplementation in the infirmary. 

Rose nodded gratefully at his offer and he bounded off to the kitchen. She might want to throttle that crazy alien sometimes, but she knew she would never get through this without him. He was so sweet and attentive, never happier than when she thought of something he could do to help her. It was like this was baby inside her was— 

Well, she supposed he felt equally responsible as if it had been his, despite her admonishments whenever guilt flashed across his face. And he’d been so patient, content to stay parked in the vortex once it became clear she didn’t want to tell her mum about the baby and he point-blank refused to take her anywhere remotely dangerous. Which, once he considered it carefully, turned out to be everywhere. 

She knew she should tell her mother, knew with certainty that Jackie would flip out if she ever learned Rose had kept something like this from her. It wasn’t that she was ashamed: she knew on a logical level that she shouldn’t be. It was more that she wanted to spare her mother the pain of the details, _how_ exactly she was pregnant, even though she had no recollection herself. Fortunately. And if she was only giving up the baby for adoption and she was lucky enough to have a time machine and a wonderful alien at its helm… Well, what young woman wouldn't jump at the chance to spare her mother knowledge that would only upset and worry her?

Also, if she was honest, she was uncomfortable with how her mother would react to the plan to put the baby up for adoption. Jackie had been in a similar situation herself at 18, if in less extreme circumstances, but had instead married Pete and kept the baby. Obviously. And that was just another stab in her heart when she thought about the adoption services the Doctor had researched at length. 

There just wasn’t a guidance handbook for when you wake up pregnant after having your memories zapped and you live on a temporospatial independent police box with a nine hundred year old alien. 

Sighing, she stepped in the shower and was just blow-drying her hair when the Doctor came back. He set the tea down on the vanity and sat down on the edge of her bed, bouncing up and down. She smiled at him through the mirror, running the brush through her hair one more time before swiveling to face the hyperactive alien and sipping the tea. 

“This does help, thanks.”

He grinned, pleased with himself. “Wellll, you do have a rather fantastic doctor on board, you know”.

Rose rolled her eyes playfully and then looked at him thoughtfully, biting her lip. “What if we just did a little visit somewhere today? In and out, take a few pictures…” She looked up at him wheedlingly, biting her thumb at the corner of her mouth: that seldom failed to sway him. “Sydney Harbour bridge, maybe? What could happen there?”

“Er…” The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to think of an excuse to keep her locked up in the TARDIS for yet another day. She took a sip of her tea and waited for him to finish bumbling. “Rough winds blowing down the bridge? Sharks coming too close to the harbor?” He was reaching and he knew it. 

“Then we’ll just have to stay out of the water. Come on, Doctor…”

“Fine…” He sighed, but it was good-natured. “But put sun cream on before we go out, the ozone hole in your time is centered over Australia.”

A wide grin spread across her face, and she was just about to jump up to thank him when instead she crumpled to the ground. 

He was at her side almost instantaneously, rolling her onto her back and anxiously checking her vital signs. Slow, but present. He shook her gently, “Rose!” he implored, but she remained motionless. Scooping her up, he full-out sprinted to the infirmary. He checked her first for dehydration and electrolyte imbalance, but on that and every other test he came up with nothing. Frustrated with his medical equipment not for the first time in the past few months, he almost missed the one slightly abnormal result.

Slowed metabolism? Nothing dangerous, just, well, it was odd. He supposed she could be having some thyroid-related symptomatology associated with the pregnancy: it wasn’t completely unheard of in human gestation. He decided to wait a bit to see if it would resolve itself on its own, otherwise he would administer some thyroid stimulating hormone to speed things along.

He only had to wait a few more minutes though, as she opened her eyes and looked around, disoriented. “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest, your metabolism slowed down and you fell asleep.” He checked the diagnostic screen now that she was awake. “Everything’s fine now, your metabolism is back to normal. The baby’s fine” he hastened to add. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said, biting her lip but shaking her head slightly at the Doctor’s anxious expression. “Really. It’s probably just another wonderful side effect of pregnancy. The morning sickness _was_ pretty bad this morning.” Breathing out slowly, he nodded to reassure her if nothing else.

“So, Sydney?” she segued hopefully.

“Ha! You, Rose Tyler, are staying inside today, just to be on the safe side.”

She sighed. Of course. Just when she was making progress with her over-protective Time Lord… 

He mentally scanned through a list of things to do on the TARDIS, trying to think of something new and exciting for his cabin-fever riddled companion, but failing miserably. They _had_ been in the vortex for awhile… 

“But,” he finally relented, “I might be willing to, say, park us in the Hydropharia VII spa complex.” He playfully scowled at his fingernails. “I’ve had a split nail since your mum’s flat.”

She threw her arms around him and hurried to her room to get changed. He strolled quickly to the console phone and arranged for the entire 250-acre complex to be privately reserved and emptied for the day. And what, exactly, was their security situation?


	9. Chapter 9

Rose was singularly unimpressed when twelve weeks rolled around and she was still racing for the toilet every morning. And every time she smelled…anything. And at the thought of, well, most food that wasn’t chips or apple juice. The Doctor reassured her that she was getting close to the end of this stage, but she eventually stopped believing him, convinced he would feel sick for the rest of her life. Compounding the physical nausea was her increasing anxiety as the date for the first adoption agency interview quickly approached. She was barely showing, but she found her hand protectively pressed to her abdomen more and more frequently when she thought about the date, as if it had a mind of its own.

It was still so surreal: there were the beginnings of _life_ growing in her uterus; cells dividing, brain cells migrating… At some point a thick-bound book had appeared on her bedside table, illustrating foetal development week by week. Her—the baby already had fingers and toes that it could move reflexively and it was this image, the clenching and unclenching of tiny toes, that was achingly branded into her consciousness with every waking breath.

Fortuitously, or likely quite intentionally, the pregnancy book was purely pictorial; Rose was doing her level best to be mature about this pregnancy, submitting to the all the Doctor’s constant and somewhat overzealous attempts at keeping her and the baby healthy, but she was also fighting a losing battle to distance herself from it all. She’d eschewed the pile of pregnancy handbooks and pamphlets that the Doctor had wordlessly placed in an easily accessible corner of the library. He’d asked her several times if she wanted him to do an ultrasound (or whatever his future technology equivalent was) but she’d steadfastly refused. She was barely able to cope with drawings of generic babies: to see the one her body had been preparing itself for her entire life, would sacrifice its own life for in an instant… The thread stitching together her fragile sanity was fraying more and more every day and she couldn’t risk what a glimpse of her— _the_ baby would do to it.

Her quickly growing panic didn’t go unnoticed by the Doctor, who watched her absentmindedly grasp for her abdomen with worry in his eyes. He was torn between a rock and a hard place, knowing he couldn’t risk influencing her choices in any way, but also sensing that she needed reminding that her that her decision still wasn’t set in stone. But on the morning of the appointment, when he was awoken by Rose shaking so violently in bed next to him, he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He knew instantly the crux of her distress.

“Oh, Rose,” he whispered and enclosed her in his arms. She clung to him like she was drowning and he drew her even closer, wrapping his legs around hers and holding her immobile. She wasn’t crying: this was fully-fledged raw fear racing through her veins. “Shh, Rose… It’s okay, we’ve got a time machine, we don’t have to go today, we can wait until you’re ready…” But his soothing words bounced right off her, unable to penetrate the anguish.

When she started hyperventilating, he turned to slightly stronger measures. Hoping to evoke the anxiolytic effects of oxytocin, he slid his hand up the back of her vest top and applied deep pressure by pressing his hands firmly to the base of her spine and between her shoulder blades.

_Ah_. That worked. She stilled all at once in his arms and blinked up at him, her breath still a little choppy. Hastily, as if her skin was a burning stove, he pulled his hands off her bare skin and placed them back in safety zones.

He cleared his throat. “Rose. I mean it, this really isn’t just a London hopper.” He was elated to see her smile weakly at that. “We can go another day if you need more time. And you’re still not making any choices; we’re just exploring the options so you can make an informed decision, _later_.”

She nodded, firstly like a lost little girl, but slowly she drew strength from somewhere and her nodding became firmer. “Yeah. Sorry. I…I should go today, no use putting it off.”

“No need to apologise. But Rose?” he pressed, hesitantly. “You haven’t really wanted to talk about it since when you first found out, but it might help to, um, talk through it again. I’m always here, or we could find a professional, or I’m still in favour of your mother, not that I thought I’d ever say that phrase, and…” He took a deep breath. “I know we’ve, er, you’ve been treating adoption as the best option, but…” He paused, knowing he should let it go, “Well, it’s just one choice, okay? My offer to help raise the baby still stands if you want to keep it. And it’s not just out of obligation or responsibility. I would…” his voice became precariously shaky and he finally censored himself and closed his mouth.

He knew that he couldn’t, shouldn’t go any further, to reveal his increasingly detailed, unbidden daydreams ( _She’s holding a beautiful newborn in white hospital bed as he sits with one arm around her and the other one caressing the baby’s tiny fingers wonder; of delicately lowering the infant to her swollen breasts to nurse; the starlight in her eyes as she gazes down lovingly at the baby and then up at him_.) Well, he wouldn’t. She wasn’t his to lose himself in like a sigh in a thunderstorm; the supernova of possibilities and impossibilities growing in her womb no more than another transient passenger on his ship.

Once more in his long life he was gazing into the window outside the life he wanted, but wasn’t his to have. Nothing was his to have; his self-imposed obligations made sure of that.

She drew him out of his ruminations and right back into something else altogether, a flame that had been simmering on the surface for quite some time, with the three words every man, alien or human, despairs to hear.

“You’re so sweet, Doctor.” Smiling, she moved her lips the infinitesimal distance forward to kiss his forehead. “Really, you’ve been so wonderful through all this, and—” She stopped herself at the look on his face.

“Doctor, are you pouting?”

“Absolutely not.” His lip jutted further out.

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” He shifted to sit up, pulling the duvet with him. “And I’m not sweet. Quite manly, actually. Manly and sour. No, bitter? Yes, manly and bitter.”

Rose giggled, shifting to compensate for her sudden lack of bodily support, and his wounded expression lessened marginally; at least he’d made her laugh, he reflected sullenly, even if it was at the expense of his manhood. He was quiet for a minute, testosterone levels climbing back up after their plunder. He’d been half-joking but this was same nerve she had inadvertently hit in that hospital room during the Blitz when she implied he wasn’t a proper man, a nerve he had hoped would regenerate into something more useful. It hadn’t. _Foolish, impotent old alien._

How this old alien ached to prove has maleness, the white hot blood that coursed through his veins at the touch of her skin, the scent of her neck… It would only take two movements, he calculated sardonically, and she would feel the indisputable proof herself. Two fluid movements and he’d be victorious above her supine body, rocking his hips into hers and savoring her widened eyes…

“You can be both. Sweet and manly aren’t exactly polar opposites, Doctor. Don’t worry, I have no doubt of your, um, manliness.” That word was starting to lose all meaning.

She watched him relax at little and sit back against the headboard with a satisfied smile.

“Quite right, too.”

She smiled warily, not for the first time wondering what was going on in that giant brain of his, and started to move off the bed. Without warning she suddenly found herself flat on her back. The Doctor had pinned her hands with his own on either side of her head and he hovered over her with a predatory look in his eyes. Rose couldn’t suppress a gasp when he slowly leant down and brought his lips close to her ear. “But I’m not sweet.”

His words were murmured in a deep, measured tone that sent involuntary shivers radiating up and down her spine. She could only gape at him as he gracefully rolled off her and landed feet first on the floor like an Olympic gymnast, holding out his hand to her.

“Breakfast?”

_Say something. Anything. Nod. Take his hand. Do anything but lay on your back and drool._ Nothing happened, and she just continued to stare at the Doctor, her heart racing and her breathing staccato. “Um…”

He smirked before turning to leave. “I’ll meet you in the galley, shall I?”

\---

They were cheerful through breakfast, once Rose had recovered enough to make her way out to the galley, and she even managed to keep down the scrambled eggs the Doctor had placed gingerly in front of her and eyed her reaction carefully as if she was a live explosive. As they tidied up the dishes, however, she found her hands shaking hard enough that the Doctor gently took away the glass she was drying for its own safety.

She made it through a shower and her morning routine without event, but the Doctor noticed her increasingly shutting down as he navigated them to the 21st century fertility and obstetric clinic he had painstakingly determined was one of the most highly regarded sites to pursue putting a baby up for adoption in her time. They had landed a couple of decades after Rose's timeline, partially because of the advancements in medical technology and partially because while Rose wanted her baby to grow up in a time similar enough to her own, she also didn't want to have to think about it existing at the same time frame when she visited her mum.

Pushing back his feelings of helplessness and worry, he could only take her hand as they walked across the parking lot to the entrance and pretend he was transmitting calming thoughts with his fingertips: obviously he could have literally done so, tweaking her GABA levels and dampening her overactive amygdala, but he knew that to artificially manipulate her anxiety levels would only serve to dampen the reality of the decisions she needed to make, possibly even influencing those choices.

He watched her, his heart twisting, as she struggled to portray strength and independence when he held open the door for her. All he wanted to do was scoop her up and run away from it all, to shield her from the heartache she didn’t deserve. But he could only wait patiently for her to enter the chrome and pale leather reception area in her own time. When it became clear she wouldn’t take the first step herself, he gently tugged her through the door and up to the front desk.

“Good morning, appointment for Rose Tyler at eleven,” he informed the receptionist quietly, squeezing her hand.

The receptionist nodded and tapped at her computer, “Yes, Ms. Tyler, you’re meeting with Elysa and Dr. Jeffries today. If you could fill out this paperwork and return it to me, I’ll let them know you’re here.”

The Doctor took the proffered clipboard and led them to a small sectional in the corner. Uncapping the pen, he licked the end and began filling out the information on her behalf. He was inordinately pleased with himself with regards to much he already knew the answers to on the form (Middle name? Check. Blood type? Check. Date of last menstrual bleeding? Check,) but stumbled when he got to the pregnancy details section.

He sighed inwardly; he’d tried to discuss this with Rose a few times in the last few months but she’d always shut down or changed the subject quickly whenever today’s appointment was mentioned. Not that he was in any position to judge conversational deflection, of course.

“Rose, you need to decide before we go in how much about the um, conception and the, er, other genetic contributor you want to tell them. Obviously mentions of memory-loss drugs would be ill-advised in this millennium but—”

“I’ll just tell them I was raped, ok?” she snapped, finally breaking her long silence, and the Doctor’s eyes widened: they had carefully danced around that word from the very beginning and hearing it aloud it was like a slap to the face. Her temporary mental anesthesia had clearly worn off and she was now coiled as tight as a spring.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded and held his tongue, leaving the rest of the form blank and wordlessly returning it to the front desk. He tried to take her hand as he sat back down but she snatched it away and stared resolutely at the wall, her jaw clenched and her hands tightly fisted. Taking out his sonic screwdriver, he busied himself scanning the building for nefarious activity, glancing at his rigid companion no more than every fifteen seconds.

They both snapped their necks over to the side of the reception desk when an older doctor wearing a lab coat called out her name. Jumping to his feet, the Doctor rushed over to shake his hand, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically. Sitting in terse silence was not his strong suit.

“Brilliant, she’s right here- I’m her, um, and she’s here: Rose! This is Dr., um…”

Said doctor had taken a step back at his exuberant rambling but now just nodded at him with slight bemusement and held his hand out to Rose. “Rose, I’m Dr. Jeffries; I’ll be the psychiatrist assigned to your case and you’ll meet Elysa shortly to discuss the legal details.” He looked at the Doctor and back at Rose. “I take it this is the father…?”

“No!” they both blurted out at the same time, Rose recovering first. “That is, no, this is the Do-…um, he’s my friend, he, uh, we…”

The Doctor stepped in at last to rescue her. “James McCrimmon, lovely to make your acquaintance; Rose and I are, er, flatmates, I’m just here to support her.”

Dr. Jeffries nodded and turned back to Rose. “Wonderful. Now, Rose, we’re going to talk together first and discuss your options; you don’t need to make any decisions today. You’re welcome to have James join us, but I should warn you that we’ll probably be discussing some things of a quite intimate or sensitive nature, so you may prefer to have him wait for you out here.”

The Doctor took Rose’s hands in his and turned her slightly away from Dr. Jeffries, leaning in and speaking in a soft tone. “Rose, you know I’m more than happy to come in with you or I can wait for you out here: whatever you prefer. Your choice.”

“Always my fucking choice, isn’t it…” she muttered under her breath, but seemed to come back to herself at his blanched face. “Please, Doctor,” she pleaded quietly, “I need you in there”.

“Of course. Anything,” he vowed, squeezing her hand supportively.

They turned back to Dr. Jeffries, who nodded and gestured with his arm to direct them to a sun-lit office at the back of the building. A tall woman they took to be Elysa with a kind face and a tailored blazer and skirt was already seated behind the U-shaped desk, rising when she saw them. She introduced herself and scooted her chair in front of the desk to face Rose and the Doctor on the couch, Dr. Jeffries in a chair off to their other side. Rose could see they were trying to make everything as casual as possible but couldn’t help feeling like she was the suspect in an interrogation and shrank back into the corner of the small sofa.

Luckily the Doctor balanced out her reticence, sitting forward and absorbing the conversation as if he would be tested later. She watched him, detached from it all, as he asked the right questions and answered their basic queries on her behalf, including, much to her relief, a vague and generic description of the conception that they accepted without comment. She startled slightly when she noticed they were all staring at her expectantly.

“Pardon?”

The Doctor leaned back and folded his leg up onto the couch so he could rotate his body more fully toward her. “Elysa asked if you’d given any thought to whether you’d prefer an open or a closed adoption,” he summarized for her gently, aware that she was only half engaged in the proceedings.

“Um, can you remind me of the difference?”

Elysa nodded understandingly, experienced with the mental state of the women she encountered in these settings. “A closed adoption means that after you give birth, you give up any rights to contact the adoptive parents or your child. You can choose whether they are permitted to contact you in the case of emergency or otherwise, but in most cases a closed adoption means that the adoptive parents will never learn your name and you will never learn theirs; we sometimes call it a confidential adoption.”

She paused, giving Rose time to absorb the information before continuing. “An open adoption is more flexible. We always negotiate the specifics case-by-case, but essentially it means that both you and the adoptive parents will know each others’ names, will likely meet on several occasions, and you might choose to remain in contact after the baby is born. I’ve handled one or two cases where the birth mother actually met the child later but those cases are extremely rare: most of the time the adoptive parents don’t want this kind of contact. But it’s certainly an option we can pursue if that’s what you want.”

Rose nodded but her eyes were glazed and she didn’t say anything. The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it, not pressing her for an answer. In fact, no one pressed her for anything, reminding her repeatedly that this was just a consultation and she could make decisions in her own time.

“Now, Rose, are you currently employed?” Elysa asked, pen hovering expectantly above her clipboard.

Rose shot a sideways glance at the Doctor, who looked mildly amused. “Um, no, I used to work at a department store, but, um, not anymore.”

“Right,” she noted. “So that you know, putting your baby up for adoption is absolutely cost-free on your end: the adopted parents foot all the legal bills. They‘ll also cover the cost of all your pregnancy-related medical expenses as well as your living expenses, including rent and food, from now until a couple of months after you give birth.”

The Doctor jumped in. “Rose doesn’t have to worry about any of that, I, she’s covered.”

Elysa nodded at him but looked carefully at Rose. “Again, just something to think about.” She paused for a moment, glancing at Dr. Jeffries. “Okay, I think we’ve just about covered the legal aspects of all this, Rose, do you have any questions?” Rose shook her head mutely. “Great. If you think of any, please call me anytime.”

Dr. Jeffries, who had taken a backseat during most of the meeting, cleared his throat and leant forward toward Rose. “The next thing we usually do is a very brief obstetric exam of yourself and the baby by one of our OBGYNs just to ensure everything is proceeding as expected, but first I’d actually like to talk to you alone for a minute, just to see how you’re feeling about all of this.” He looked over at the Doctor, “We’ll be in the room next door; you’re welcome to wait in reception and Rose will be back with you shortly.”

Rose’s alarm was fully evident and she clutched at the Doctor’s hand as if it was a buoy in a storm but he just squeezed it lightly and gently extracted his hand from hers.

“I’ll be right here for when you’re done, okay? And someone will come get me if you need me” he reassured, glancing up to confirm.

Rose swallowed and shook her head determinedly, her mouth set in a firm line and her eyes fixed on the couch arm. He bent to rest his forehead on hers and murmured quietly enough that the others couldn’t hear. “I know you’re scared. But you won’t let me examine the baby or take you for a checkup and it needs to be done… You can ask that the doctor not tell or show you anything but you’re going to have to face this at some point. You’ll be fine; you’re so strong and brilliant, Rose, you can do this.” He caressed her hand between his and planted a kiss on her palm. “I’ll be right down the hall.”

\---

Dr. Jeffries beckoned her to sit on the exam table and sat down himself on the stool by the sink. He didn’t say anything for a moment and seemed to be considering the best way to approach something. Rose bit her lip.

“I know it’s difficult to speak candidly in a room full of people, that’s why I wanted us to be alone for a bit. Before we start any adoption proceedings, we always want to make sure the birth mothers, and indeed the adopting parents, are fully on board with the realities of adoption. And to discuss any worries or concerns they may have.” Rose nodded, and he continued. “Your case is more complex than most, what with how the baby was conceived; I highly recommend seeing a counselor, on at least a semi-regular basis. I’ll give you a list of local specialists and should let you know that whether or not you go through with adoption, our agency will cover the costs of seeing one of them.”

Rose nodded uncomfortably, finally speaking for the first time in what felt like awhile. “Thanks, but honestly, I’ve, um, processed it and I don’t have any flashbacks or anything, so…”

The doctor smiled sadly. “You’d be surprised the ways your body can re-route trauma. I’d urge you to at least consider it; take the list with you anyway.” He paused again. “The other thing is, well, it’s absolutely essential that we protect both the mother and the baby, so I always need to make sure: are you being coerced, in any way, into putting this baby up for adoption? Or into keeping it?”

“What? No, absolutely not. Why?”

He seemed to consider his words carefully. “Your friend. He clearly cares about you a great deal and it’s great that you have a strong source of support. But I want to make sure you remember that this is _your_ decision to make. Our records indicate that he called to arrange our meeting today and he certainly took the reigns in our conversation just now. Making decisions of this grand a scale… Just make sure you’re basing your decision on what’s best for you, for you and your baby, rather than letting someone else take charge… or in order to keep someone in your life.”

Rose was horrified, and the worst part was that she wasn’t even sure if she was horrified that the doctor had misread the situation so ludicrously or that he hadn’t. She was still staring agape at Dr. Jeffries when a short, ridiculously cheerful doctor came bustling into the room, all smiles and light.

“Hello! I’m Dr. Grayson, I’m the OBGYN on staff here. My apologies, Dr. Jeffries, I didn’t mean to barge in, were you just about finished?”

Dr. Jeffries nodded, a little reluctantly, passing Rose the list of counselors with a significant expression. “Yes, no problem. Rose, I do hope you consider calling someone on this list, and I’d be pleased to chat again anytime.” Rose nodded numbly and he left the room.

Rose barely noticed the gynecological exam Dr. Grayson sunnily performed, chatting happily away about the weather and the newly sprung buds in her garden. She barely flinched at the blood test, her head only snapping up when the doctor mentioned that it was to test for genetic abnormalities. “Jumper off, please!” she trilled and Rose robotically complied. Still chirping away, the OBGYN gently pushed her back into a reclining position, pulled up her vest top, and tugged down her jeans a little to expose her stomach and the turgid, infinitesimal bump Rose had been studiously trying to ignore.

“No, wait, I…” Rose spluttered, panicking, but the doctor just patted her arm.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, just a simple ultrasound; I’m sure you’re an old hat at this by now.” Quick as a flash, she spread sticky blue gel on the skin above the uterus and reached for the ultrasound wand. “And we can get a picture for our records this way: adoptive parents love to get a copy of their future baby at such an early stage.”

“No, please, I…” she tried to protest again but her words got caught in her throat and she felt her breath begin to quicken as her gaze connected with the monitor.

The monitor where, blurry but completely recognisable, was her baby. Her baby. Secure and protected in the dark shelter of her womb, feet curled up, little fingers at its face.

“Hello, little boy!” the doctor chirruped, glancing at the blood test results that popped up on the monitor. She tapped a button to print the screen and then began moving the wand around for further diagnostics. She squinted at the screen and then lit up and she opened her mouth—

And it was too much and throbs of emotion radiated out her heart and through her body, reverberating back in what seemed to be an endless ricochet and she had to get out of there and she couldn’t breathe… She didn’t even wipe the gel off her abdomen, she just ran. Bolted out of the room, out of the building, out to the park adjacent to the office building where the TARDIS was parked, ran to the wonderful blue doors…

_Ah_. Her key was in her jumper, still in the exam room. Defeated and fully expended, she slid down onto the grass with the TARDIS at her back. She could feel the gel seeping through her thin vest top and in unhinged desperation tore off her top and used it to scrub her stomach dry, her breathing halted until all traces were removed.

Disconnected, she watched the Doctor sprint toward her as if it were a scene on the telly. The actor crouched down in front of the actress and murmured a litany of reassurances and tender platitudes before engulfing her in his arms. _Foolish girl_ , she reflected, laying limp in the actor’s arms and ridiculously clad in only a bra and jeans… The actor slipped off his long jacket after a moment and wrapped it around the actress, who had gone from limp to shaking. _Overacting_ , she chided the actress’s performance, _get a grip_. The actor sank to the damp grass and pulled the shivering actress into his lap like a small child…

And all at once the perspective shifted with a sickening lurch and Rose looked up into the Doctor’s compassionate eyes and felt only nausea and guilt. “No!” she cried, physically pushing him away by his chest and scrambling to her feet. “I can’t…” she stuttered and fled into the overgrown park hedges.

This time the Doctor didn’t give her breathing room, knew that she had to face up to reality before her chronically suppressed stress levels threatened her health and that of the vulnerable foetus. He followed right behind her, unfaltering, as she darted into the sparse wooded area on the park boundaries.

She gave good chase but knew she couldn’t outrun him forever, halting in place so abruptly he had to swerve to avoid smacking right into her. Circling back around to face her, he said nothing, simply maintaining eye contact and hoping she would be the first to speak.

Rose maintained eye contact with him for several moments before looking away, panting lightly. “I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything, that’s…that’s not what needs saying, Rose.” His breathing was steady but his voice betrayed an edge of frustration.

She narrowed her eyes at him, a hair's-breath away from snapping. “What do you want saying then? Tell me and I’ll say it.” Her words were low and dangerous.

“I don’t need anything saying, you—”

“What? I’m sorry I can’t be calm and logical like you, that I can’t discuss things with those lovely people like a normal human being, that I can’t cope with a simple scan.” Her voice quickly accelerated in volume until she was shouting, her angry words swallowed up by the wide expanse of trees and space.

The Doctor sighed. “Rose… No one expects you to be an emotionless machine about this. But you also can’t shut everything out.” He paused to catch her eyes again as they tried to dart away. “ Rose. You _are_ pregnant. In six months or so you _will_ give birth. There will be a baby. There’s no denying it, as much as I wish we could hide away in stasis on the TARDIS forever. It’s my fault too, I’ve been enabling instead of helping you meet these things head on; I should have insisted you get a prenatal checkup earlier, should have tried harder to broach the difficult questions with you rather than giving you time. But here we are, and, just, _please_ , let’s talk about it. Please, Rose.”

All at once, she deflated. “It’s a boy,” she choked out.

And so did the Doctor, feeling the air rush out of his lungs and a lump grow in his throat. He swallowed, once, and then a second time. “Oh, Rose…” he breathed.

She nodded, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. They stared at each other at length, their bodies unnaturally separate entities.

Rose took a deep breath finally. “The shrink, he said…he thought I might be choosing adoption to keep you in my life.”

His eyes darkened but he smiled softly. “Goes to show what he knows. You’re staying with me, with or without this baby, maybe even with or without your consent, really. I’ve got some unbreakable Luciq rope on board; it would certainly keep you from wandering off…” He was trying to lighten the mood, but she only broke down at his words. Her silent tears turned to gasping sobs and he gathered her up tightly. He didn’t say anything, just let her cry.

“I thought I was too weak to keep, to raise a baby,” she whispered, muffled into his chest. “Now I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to give him up.”

He remained silent, cursing the tiny ray of warmth that was steadily diffusing through his body.

She continued, her voice normal volume now but keeping her face buried in his suit jacket. “But I’m still scared.” He nodded into her hair. “And… I can’t…You’re the Doctor, not some nanny, and…I can’t let you pay the price because I’m emotionally clinging to a baby that I should be responsible about and give to proper parents who planned for him, and want him, and—”

“ _I_ want him.”

His voice was soft and low, but it bore no hesitation.

She sagged in his arms, “Doctor…” she warned, shakily.

“I _want_ him, Rose. I want him to clench his entire hand around my finger because he can’t let go. I want to watch his rising chest as he falls asleep and be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes again. I want…I want you to kiss the soles of his tiny feet and the fingers of his tiny hand, and…” He swallowed. “And I want us to do it together, one poised behind him as he takes his first steps into the other’s outstretched arms.”

She sucked in a ragged breath.

“But only, _only_ , if that’s what you want.”

He kept one arm around her, raising the other hand to stroke her hair, brush the pad of his thumb along her jawline, but he didn’t dare seek her eyes. His hearts lay exposed, consummate in her hands, and he beseeched every deity he didn’t believe in that the one person into which he’d instead poured his beliefs would handle them gently.

  
_Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,_  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. 

(Yeats)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Veritascara for her help with a few obstetric facts!


	10. Chapter 10

_“I want him, Rose. I want him to clench his entire hand around my finger because he can’t let go. I want to watch his rising chest as he falls asleep and be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes again. I want…I want you to kiss the soles of his tiny feet and the fingers of his tiny hand, and…” He swallowed. “And I want us to do it together, one poised behind him as he takes his first steps into the other’s outstretched arms.”_

_She sucked in a ragged breath._

_“But only, only, if that’s what you want.”_

\--

The girl, the beautiful girl with seeded flecks of bronze in her eyes and flax in her hair, holds her breath as her eyes seek communion with the boy who's clutching her so tightly as if to buoy her from floating away, so tightly they might well merge into one flesh. 

She resonates disbelief tempered with hope, glorious hope that survived winter’s chill to spring anew and tentatively nudge its tendrils out of the thawing earth in search of the sunlight in his gaze. 

The boy bows his head against hers in quiet supplication and they draw shared breaths, their respirations harmonising in the warm zephyr of Spring’s anticipation. 

The girl raises her hands to the boy’s pounding chest. 

“Why?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.”

The birds stop chirping and the wind stills. The earth suspends its rotation and the clouds gather in expectation. 

“I want him too.” The tears forming in her eyes and flooding down her cheekbones are liquid gold, scintillating in the morning light.

“Yeah?” he chokes with bated breath. 

The timelines abiding in the boy’s aura freeze in their dance, poised to leap and poised to fall. 

“Yes.”

His smile ascends so slowly that the timelines scatter into chaos for an instant but as light streams up his face and shoots out of his eyes, his fingertips, his toes, the timelines synchronise and take a giant leap in the dark. The boy grips the girl under her arms and spins them both around and around in the shadowless glade. He spins her until they are so tangled in the golden threads of time and possibilities that they could never be unraveled, until the three enclosed in their circle could never be pulled asunder. 

\---

He took her hand and they veritably bounced back to the TARDIS as if walking on the moon, swinging their arms and grinning inanely. They buried the heaviness of the past few weeks in the clearing, stomping heartily on the soil, and though they knew there would be some weighty decisions to be made in the near future, they could wait a little longer. They had her lifetime.

The Doctor suddenly halted, mid-sentence, and turned to her excitedly. “Rose! Do you realize what today is?”

She paused to consider, giddy, but then smilingly shook her head when she realized she had absolutely no idea what the date was in her own timeline much less whenever they were currently landed. 

“Today, Rose Tyler, is the very first day in many, many, _many_ that you didn’t have morning sickness when you woke up or even after eating breakfast!” He held his hand up for a high-five and she returned it gleefully.

“Ohh, I hadn’t even noticed! Do you think the worst is over?” 

His smile, his smile that made everything better, beamed back at her. “I think today is the start of a brand new chapter.”

Grimacing playfully at his cheesiness, she swung their arms more vigorously as they continued on their way and his coat tails flapped in the breeze behind her. She couldn’t get over how sunny the world was, how wonderful and bright things were once the prolonged cloud of fear and guilt had lifted. Lifted all at once, with three little words that she knew were infinitely more meaningful than the archetypal three. Not that those ones wouldn’t be nice too… She glanced sidelong at the Doctor, watching his cheeks twitch happily, his satisfied grin and eager eyes. If he had a tail it would be wagging. 

“That’s it: we’re celebrating! What do you say to a safe spot of adventure?” The Doctor pondered the options as they walked; he knew she loved their off-planet adventures, but he had to admit he loved how squeals of delight when he’d taken her to classical Earth travel destinations. There was enough novelty in her life at the moment anyway.

Rose hummed happily in agreement, snuggling into the Doctor and leaning her head on his arm as they walked, curling their entwined hand up to where they were joined at the shoulder. His attention derailed as he watched her in rapt pleasure, still clad in his jacket (and practically _only_ his jacket…) which resulted in him stumbling on an errant branch. They went tumbling to the ground, Rose landing on top of his sprawled form when he twisted like a feline in midair. 

“Hello,” she grinned.

“Hello,” he grinned.

He gazed at her like her eyes contained a forming star, a plasma storm, an exploding supernova, before leaping to his feet and pulling her up to join him. 

“Right. Um, anyway, travelling! I’ve got just the place- do you want it to be a surprise or shall I tell you now?” he asked, bouncing on his the balls of his feet. 

Rose laughed at his exuberance. “Tell me now,” she ordered with a smile, knowing the Time Lord well enough that he wouldn’t be able to make it back to the TARDIS without blurting it out. 

“Vernazza, Italy. Part of the Cinque Terre, five towns hugging the northern Mediterranean coast. Haven’t been there myself for years…centuries…But I know you’ll love it.”

“Sounds brilliant. Weather?”

“What do you fancy? It gets hot in the summer months, more temperate in the spring and autumn…”

“Hot enough for swimming?”

“Yep!”

“Let’s do that then.” She hesitated but ploughed forward anyway. “Only so much longer I’ll be willing to wear a bikini, eh?”

The Doctor swallowed at that but probably not for the reason she might suspect. “Right, er, early summer it is then”

They reached the TARDIS and Rose suddenly gasped. “My key! I left it in the exam room when I…”

He unlocked the door with his own key and motioned her inside. “I’ll get it, you get changed; I won’t be a tick.” 

She smiled her relieved thanks and took only a few steps before hurriedly turning back to the Doctor, raising herself on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and just as quickly skipping off to her room, the long tails of his jacket flouncing along behind her. 

He watched her, dazed from both the kiss and from seeing how light-footed and carefree she was: it had been quite awhile since she’d walked the corridors with anything but quiet dread in her footsteps. Warmth perfused through his body as he finally turned back toward the agency, a hop in his own step too. 

\---

The receptionist seemed to be expecting him and reached under her desk to retrieve Rose’s abandoned jumper. “I imagine you’re looking for this,” she remarked, passing it over. 

“Ah, yes, thank you… Um, I’m sorry for our sudden exit, we, um, she…”

The receptionist smiled kindly. “It's an emotional time.”

Nodding, he turned to leave, but she stopped him. “Oh, wait a second: the OBGYN dropped off the ultrasound picture too, do you want it? It’s a little blurry, I'm afraid; I think she must have moved while it was taken.”

He took the print from her outstretched hand wordlessly, rooted in his spot as his eyes roved across the scan as if it were water and he had just finished a marathon, absorbing every detail from the clenched fingers to the letters denoting the time and date as if he would never see them again. The profiled outline of the baby was barely perceptible, but it was there, and somehow the detail in the tiny fingertips and toes was intact and sharp.

He cleared his throat finally and slid the image carefully into his breast pocket. “And, um, the exam was normal, everything’s progressing smoothly?”

“I’m sure your son is fine, Dr. Grayson didn’t look concerned when she dropped these off with me. Although she did mention she hadn't finished the exam, that there was more to discuss. Do you want me to grab her before she goes to lunch?”

The Doctor shook his head and mechanically thanked the receptionist, walking out of the office in a daze. _Your son (your child, your baby)…_ Never had two solitary words provoked such joy and such grief. A possessive, selfish joy; a sorrow that the joy was undeserved, wasn’t his to claim; a sorrow that he’d heard these words before, when they were new and merited and unmerited all in the same breath; a sorrow that he usually tries to push away into the darkest crevices of his mind but it always grows legs and marches right back to the forefront. 

\---

A loud thump on her door startled her as she stepped out of the shower. She opened the door a moment later in her dressing gown and wet hair, confused at the urgency written across the Doctor's face. He passed her the jumper and sunk down at the end of her bed, staring and glaring at his hands for a long moment. 

“Doctor? What’s wrong? Are you…are you having second thoughts?”

He looked stricken. “No! Never; not now, not ever, okay?” She nodded but bit her lip, shifting her weight and fidgeting with the hem of her robe. 

Finally, he met her eye, sighing. “It’s just…you need to know something about me before we…before we go any further. Because you deserve to know, and I…I don’t know if I would have ever told you otherwise, but if I don’t tell you now I might never get up the courage.”

Relaxing a little, she sat down next to him and took hold of hand he was currently drumming on his knee, brushing her fingers along his knuckles. “Whatever it is, we’ll work through it, okay? Just tell me, I won’t judge you…”

“Oh, you should judge me,” he warned darkly, “you should and you will.” 

“Try me.” 

“Rose, I…” He swallowed but finally forced the words out. “Back in Gallifrey, I _had_ children: a son and a daughter, they, well, reproduction was different there, but they were wonderful, they were mine, regardless of…” He trailed off, needing to collect himself.

Rose nodded comfortingly for him to continue but truthfully was more than taken aback at his words. She knew, on one level, that she shouldn’t be surprised but at the same time, this was a side she had never even fathomed about the Doctor: she was still struggling to wrap her head around his desire to help raise _her_ baby. 

“I killed them. I killed my son, I killed my daughter…” he choked out. “I killed my grandchildren, my parents, my siblings… I’m not a good man, I sacrificed—no, that makes it sound noble—I judged their lives dispensable enough to end, to wipe out of the universe as if they'd never existed, and…” 

She knew the horrors of the Time War, his actions, had cried for him in the past. This particular angle, though, hit home like a cricket ball to the gut: his entire species; _his family_. Pregnancy-sensitized tears streamed down her face at the image and she had to grip his hand tighter when tried to back away, obviously assuming her tears were of fear and disgust. 

“Doctor, it…” She struggled to force the words past her swollen throat, finally wrestling a modicum of control over her emotions. “You would have never done it if there were any other way. You didn’t start the war—“

“No, but I ended it. I pressed a big red button and everyone died.” His words were dull, clearly repeated on a regular basis in his mind, and she had a vivid flashback of her broken and leather first Doctor, hiding his pain under stark, simple words. 

“Who am I to pass judgment on the affairs of the universe?” he continued, staring at her imploringly, his eyes haunted. “Rose, it’s as if I killed you and your baby, incinerated you both with a single motor output, a infinitesimal flick of my finger. How can you trust me, how can I trust _myself_ that it won’t happen again? They always die and I always live, whatever the iteration.” 

Rose took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to regain her composure. “The Daleks killed them. Maybe, I don’t know, your people did too. But you? You didn’t kill: you saved. You protected a billion times a billion people, millions of planets…” She paused. “You saved _me_. You saved him,” she whispered, gesturing to her abdomen. “I can’t even begin to imagine your anguish… I know you’re punishing yourself, and I understand why, but you know what? I bet your family would feel exactly like I do: always choose the universe, Doctor.”

And all at once he kissed her, hard and desperate as if he were trying to draw penitence from her lips, fisting his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck and fiercely pressing her close as if he wanted sink into her skin. His teeth bit down on her lower lip urgently and she let out a soft whimper, clenching her fingers where they rested on his arm and around his hand. Taking advantage of her parted mouth like it held the absolution he ached for, he passed a long, deep stroke of the top of her mouth before returning to tangle his tongue in hers the same way their fingers were still entwined. 

It was the sound of his own soft moan that hurled him back to the harsh present, his cold logical forebrain finally overriding the searing hot emotional and dopaminergic neurocircuitry. He scrambled off the bed, almost tripping over his own feet in the process, and stood panting in a far corner. His eyes were wide and guilt-ridden. 

“No, I… Rose…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I was, oh, Rose, I’m so sorry…” He was so anxiously stricken she worried he would have another panic attack.

Rose, for her part, felt as if she had been suspended in jelly and although she knew she was staring at him with her mouth wide open and gasping for air, she was powerless to do anything about it. 

“I’m just going to…” He backed up toward the door, his hands out in front of him as if fearful she might think he was going to attack her. “I’ll just…”

She finally recovered enough to speak. “Doctor, wait, stop. It’s fine, okay, you…you were upset, yeah? It happens. We can forget about it, okay?”

He swallowed heavily but stopped backing away. “Upset, yes, er, thank you.” He panicked when his racing mind scalped his words for every possible interpretation. “For understanding! Not for, um… But that was nice too! And, well, we’ve got Italy to get to, can’t be late! Welll…” 

Rose finally cut him off by ushering him out of her room. “I’ll meet you in the console room in a few minutes.” Her words were gentle and patient like she was directing a confused child. The bumbling alien finally made his way out the door, still nervously nattering about the nuances of time travel to himself.

She leant against the closed door and air whooshed out of her lungs, fingers absently brushing her lips. 

Still a little lightheaded, she racked her brain for clues as to what she was supposed to be doing. She drew mostly a blank, calling to mind only the sensation of his lips on hers, his fingers tugging at her hair, the smell of his skin, the sound of his moan…

Italy. That was it, Italy. She needed to get dressed for Italy.


	11. Chapter 11

He parked abutting the outermost stone wall of the Piazza Marconi and opened the door to let the sunshine filter in. His hands were still shaking. Get a handle on yourself, Time Lord he berated himself. It was just an impulsive kiss, she understood, it was over. No use dwelling on things that wouldn’t, couldn’t happen. 

The problem was that he was quickly losing sight of _why_ he was holding himself back. She’d wither and die, she was a lightning bolt, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with her, she was pregnant, blah, blah, blah. 

Too late, he was raising a baby with her, settling down, choosing, _relishing_ the slow path with her.

There was also, of course, the crippling fear that she’d reject him, that she only loved him as a friend. Indeed, she had never crossed the line with him, had always kept their flirting within the admittedly flexible lines of plantony.

But, well, she hadn’t exactly pushed him away during that kiss…

Ah, but there was the crux of it all: she was emotional and vulnerable and that kiss was a repulsive capitalisation on those weaknesses: just because she had allowed it didn’t mean that she wanted him, only that her defences were torn and shattered. Probably also out of compassion, empathy for his pitiful outburst: _‘you were upset’_. Pity: it was only an involuntary response built on pity, one with a gracious offer to forgive and forget he was duty-bound to honour. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and nervously fiddled with the contents ( _why did he have silly putty in here, again?_ ) until Rose emerged. She walked over, resting her hand on his arm while she tried to peer over his shoulder out the door. He didn’t have to wait long for that peal of delight he was after.

The town straddled the rocky edge of a sparkling Mediterranean coastline, its bright and multicoloured buildings sloping down from the rough hills to the stalwartly ensconced harbour. There was a small, pebble-studded beach abutting the square and the sea was turquoise and sparking in the midday sun. 

“Ohhh! It’s so beautiful, look at that water!” She tugged at his hand. “What are we waiting for?” she squealed, starting to pull him outside before she noticed what he was wearing. “Doctor, it’s like 35 degrees out here, the only suit you should be wearing is a swimsuit.”

“Trust me, I’m fine: my internal heat regulation is really quite advanced, when—”

“Superior physiology: got it.” She sighed. “But how’re you going to swim in that woollen monstrosity?”

“I’ve got a pair of swim trunks under here- don’t you worry, Rose Tyler. And look!” He lifted his foot and waggled it in front of her, “The flip flops have made a reappearance!”

Without warning and with a sly smile of her face, she knelt down in front of him and rolled up his trouser legs a few rolls. Satisfied (and more than excited for the swim trunk revelation), she grinned up at him and stood up. Taking his hand, she started running to the beach, dragging him behind her. The water was warm and clear and she didn’t hesitate to divest herself of her already sticky dress and sandals and splash into the sea. 

The Doctor rocked back on his heals and silently watched her glide through the crystalline water. He wanted to call her back, wanted follow her into the undulating sea, but instead continued to watch her, spell struck by the tableau she cast. She ducked under, her hair momentarily fanning the water’s surface before succumbing to the seawater. 

“Rose,” he called hoarsely, “come put on some sun cream, you’ll burn in a few minutes.”

She grinned ruefully but squeezed out her hair as she ascended out of the Mediterranean, the water droplets clinging to her bare stomach and sternum scintillating in the afternoon sunlight. He swallowed. Taking the proffered bottle from his now slightly shaky hand, she was his undoing as, holding his gaze with a playful smile, she rubbed the cream across her arms, her legs, her chest, the subtle swell of her increasingly turgid abdomen... He swallowed again. 

“You’re a little obsessed with sun cream, Doctor.”

Quite right to be, he muttered to himself, dazed even in his own head. His thoughts were becoming blurry, chaotic, hyper-focused. “Mmm…” was the only response he could muster.

The look she shot him was decidedly cheeky, but he was too far-gone to decipher it. “Would you mind getting my back?” she asked sweetly as she turned around and looked back over her shoulder.

“Ummm…” His eyes raked wildly over the skin of her exposed back. 

“Doctor?” She fought the mad grin tugging at her lip.

“Back, yes, right, good thinking. Pass it over, then.” He slathered the sun cream on her back so clinically she began to wonder if she’d been imagining his lustful gaze until she felt his hands linger on her hips just under the seam of her bikini bottoms, his hot breath at her neck. She gasped in a shallow lungful of air and involuntarily closed her eyes as he tugged her closer and inhaled a deep breath of the nape of her neck. His hands extrapolated their stroke from her hips around to her stomach and suddenly he was gone, touch severed and his face painstakingly blank. 

“You need to wait fifteen minutes to let it absorb before going back in the water.” His voice was low but measured.

She nodded, not quite trusting her own voice, feeling like she’d won and lost at the same time. Her eyes darted around the beach, looking for something to distract him from seeing her struggle to keep her breath even, something to conquer his discomfiture that would surely descend. 

“Ooh, are those pedalos over there?”

His puer aeternus eyes lit up, just as she knew they would.

“Oh, perfect! I was thinking we could hike over to the next town, but sailing the sea will be much more enjoyable”

“Well, pedalling the sea.”

“Even better!” He reached into his pocket and passed her some bank notes. “How about you go buy us some picnic supplies, there’s a little shop in that street there, and I’ll go see a man about that magnificent ocean vessel.”

“I’m not sure if he’s renting them out, it might just be his own…”

“The power of persuasion, Rose,” He adopted an expression of mock determination, “Never fear, I shall acquire us the mighty aquatic steed!”

“I have no doubt with regards to your persuasive prowess, Doctor. Okay, meet you back here in a tick!”

Slipping her sandals back on but crumpling her dress into her bag, she padded off slowly across the sand and across the piazza, sparing a backward glance to the Doctor who had already bounded off to interrogate the poor unsuspecting man responsible for the pedalo. She bit her lip. Superior temperature regulation indeed: that alien ricocheted between hot and cold faster than a tennis ball at Wimbledon…

She purchased bread, cheese, some sort of jam product, and a couple bottles of water at the little store exactly where he remembered ( _wait, how many other people had he brought here?_ None of her business, she supposed…) and made her way back to the beach. The Doctor was waving madly at her from the dock enclosing the south-most arch of the harbour, clutching a rope in his hand like he’d just hooked the moon. 

“Success!” he yelled as she came within earshot. “You were right, that guy was only renting it himself for the day, but we, er, came to an agreement.” 

“You’re tugging on your ear, Doctor—what exactly do you mean by ‘an agreement’?

“Wellll, he may have been under the impression that we needed the pedalo for official maritime law…business.”

“He thinks we’re going after a nautical criminal in a _paddle boat_?”

“I never actually said that, just sort of insinuated…anyway, I compensated him more than adequately and they were pretty much done with it for the day… I promised him we’d get it back to the rental dock in Monterosso before five, so let’s get going!”

“Gotta catch those dastardly killer whales, after all…” 

“It’ll just take a bit of mussel, but we’ll apprehend them!”

She groaned playfully at his pun and hopped into the boat, securing the bag of food behind their seats. The Doctor unwound the rope anchoring them to the dock and jumped in, paddling furiously to start them on their way. Trying to keep up with his rapid pace, Rose gave up after her feet kept tangling in the pedals and instead slung her legs up over the bow and pulled on her sunglasses.

He navigated out of the harbour and along the side of the steep cliff that would eventually lead them to the next town. Considering the crowds of the town, Rose was surprised that they were alone at sea save some sailboats further off. About five minutes out from Vernazza, the Doctor stopped pedalling and let them drift lazily in the calm waters. 

Neither spoke for some time, leaning back and enjoying the sunshine on their faces, Rose sneaking several long looks at him from behind the privacy of her tinted shades. With a similar thought process, he reached into his pocket after awhile and pulled out his own sunglasses, and they spent several moments surreptitiously casting glances at each other, she covered only in a gold bikini, he in full suit and tie. 

She twisted her body toward him eventually, leaning over and pulling at his tie knot. “At least loosen your tie, crazy man…” she chastised, her tongue peeking out from the side of her lips. 

His eyes flickered down to her mouth and seemed to get stuck until he surprised her by waving her hand off and slipping off the tie himself. 

“I’ll do you one better—let’s jump in.” He continued removing his layers of clothing. “Last time I was here I went skinny dipping, just down the coast toward the other town,” he remarked lightheartedly as his shirt was finally unbuttoned and carefully folded and placed on his seat, “there’s a tiny little beach hidden off one of these caves, known for nude sunbathing.” He reached behind his head and hauled the Henley over his head and crumpled it to the floor. “Of course, different body back then, quite curly.“ His t-shirt now tossed aside, he paused for effect and shot her such an indecently brazen, shirtless smirk that a violent blush had engulfed her face before he could even continue. “Hair that is. You might have liked it, actually. So, what do you say?” 

“Umm, say…?” Her difficulties spurring the immobile cogs in her brain were only compounded by his fingers deftly flicking open the button of his trousers, moving down to his zipper.

“To skinny dipping. Weren’t you listening?” A moment passed. “I won’t look,” he promised with a waggle of his eyebrows, a cocky smile playing on his lips at her stupor.

She pulled herself together finally, partially aided by a surge of jealousy toward whomever he had last swam here with. “And just to confirm, by skinny dipping you mean…no clothes.”

“What other definition is there?”

Meeting his eyes head-on, she intentionally bit her lip through a cheeky smile.

“You’re on, Time Lord.” 

She slowly raised her hand to the ties at the back of her bikini top and watched his eyes track its movements like a hawk with a mouse. He swallowed hard as she released the lower of the two knots, the bikini top continuing to mostly cover her up thanks to the halter strings around her neck. Before she could tease the poor alien any further, he swiftly turned around and, shedding his trousers and shoes, dived into the water in one fluid motion. 

He broke the surface a few seconds later with his hand over his eyes and deposited his swim trunks on the deck of the boat, turning his back to the pedalo and swimming a few strokes away. Rose stood rigidly in place: she hadn’t actually expected he would meet her double bluff. Finally exhaling a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, she hurriedly divested herself of the rest of her swim cossie and hurled herself underwater. 

He turned around after he heard her splash and made his way over to her. The water was more opaque out here in the open and with only their heads bobbing up above the light waves, it was far less awkward than perhaps it should have been. 

Until memories of his bare chest flashed in her mind, the bare chest and…other parts that were less than a meter away, cloaked only in seawater… But she managed to relax and returned his maniacal grin as they paddled in the refreshingly cool waves.

“See! Isn’t this wonderful?”

“I feel very free” she deadpanned, but couldn’t hold back her smile for long. “You really skinny dipped here before?”

“Wellll, not so much skinny dipped as had my clothes burnt off with Trylian acid during a particularly nasty dispute with a Rungii… But don’t act so surprised, I’m certainly doing it conventionally right now…”

“Um, Doctor, our mighty sea vessel seems to be getting away from us…”

He glanced over, unworried, at the pedalo slowly drifting away. “Haven’t I ever told you about my physiologically superior water propulsion abilities?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “No, but please, do elaborate…”

“No need to be snarky, young lady, just trying to assuage your fears of being trapped in the wild open waters.“

She surged forward and playfully socked him in, she hoped at least, was his arm. They bobbed contentedly for a few minutes more before Rose glided back to the boat, which really hadn’t gone that far, and retied her bikini under aquatic cover. Hoisting herself on the dock, she sat with her legs still in the sea and reached for the shopping bag for a bottle of water. The Doctor floated happily a little longer, poking his toes out of the water and spiralling himself around like a cork before following suit. He tugged on his swim trunks underwater and propelled himself gracefully back onto the boat. 

Rose tried not to gape at the muscles in his back as he twisted around to paw through the food bag himself, finally giving up and donning her sunglasses again. 

Unwrapping the cheese, he sniffed it before tossing the wedge to the waves. 

“Doctor! What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry, I really am,“ he said with genuine contrition, “but, well, pregnant women shouldn’t have unpasteurised cheese… something you’d know if you actually read any of those guides I got you.”

“Fine, thanks… But you didn’t have to toss it to the fish! What a waste…”

“I wasn’t going to have any if you couldn’t, that would be unconscionably impolite.” He dipped two torn pieces of bread into the jam jar and handed her one, his eyes flickering down to her stomach for a brief moment.

“And you’re never rude, are you Doctor?” Her tone was playful but she knocked their shoulders together in unspoken gratitude. They were silent for a minute, chewing slowly on their bread.

“So…” she started, but trailing off; knew what they needed to talk about but not what she wanted to say. He waited patiently for her to continue. “I guess we need to talk about…things. I know you’re going to ask me what I want, but, well, until a few hours ago I thought I was putting a nebulous idea of a baby up for adoption, and now he’s a boy and I’m…we’re keeping him, and…”

He stretched his arm around her and drew her closer, skin to glorious skin, and she dropped her head on his shoulder. “Take some more time then. I can play as big or as little a role as you want, but you need to know…I’m all in, okay? If you want.”

There was a long beat of silence and he knew he had to say it, to make absolutely sure she knew. “Being with you and your baby…it wouldn’t be giving anything up. It would be gaining everything.” 

He glared at his hand as it made to tap dance its way to the bump of her abdomen, managing to catch it at the last second. She sniffed and he rubbed her back. “No, no, enough crying today, I don’t care if they’re happy or sad tears. Wellll, I do care, but that’s not the point I’m making. We’re floating in the Mediterranean, eating jammy bread, discussing the most beautiful creation this universe will ever know—“

Cut off by a whimper descending into a full-scale snotty wail, he laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Okay, crying it is. Can’t deny you anything…”

\---

Her sobs were short-lived but the Doctor noted Rose’s mental and physical exhaustion at the events of the day and rigged up a canopy over the boat with supplies from his ever-handy infinite pockets. Reclining the seats back, he fiddled with Rose’s phone to play some Verdi and Puccini and they drifted asleep to the gentle lolling of the sea.

The Doctor was hurled to harsh consciousness, however, with Rose’s piercing scream. Half asleep, she seemed to be frantically crawling away from something and he barely caught her before she scrambled over the rails of the boat. 

“Rose! Wake up, it’s just another nightmare, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured in her ear, stroking her cheek and brushing her hair back from her face, trying to coax her awake. She blinked at him, confused. 

“Ah, there you are. You had another nightmare; not the ideal location, a tiny boat in the sea…” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but truthfully he was concerned: she’d been having these nightmares every night, and now, it seemed, even during daylight naps. Pregnancy often caused odd dreams and nightmares, but this was ridiculous. And couldn’t be good for the foetus, being bathed in cortisol and other stress hormones on a daily basis.

He saw her hesitate, biting her lip as she studied him. “Doctor, I…I think I’m dreaming about your…I thought it was just a generic battle scene or something, but just now I was in a dusty tent…and there was a box with a red and gold button shaped like a flower, and I was going to push it, and, um…”

The horrified expression on his face silenced her description. “Rose…that’s…I never told you any of those details…how?” he stammered but knew she wouldn’t have an explanation either. He sucked in a deep breath: that unexplained mental connection between them, the neural calling card… 

“It’s my fault, it must be: I’m so sorry, Rose… Do you remember when I helped you sleep a few months ago? When you found out… Anyway, there was some evidence that I’d, er, been in your head before.” He faltered, scratching the back of his neck and then running his hand through his hair for good measure. “And since I never—never!—had been before, to my knowledge, it must have been in that missing hour… Obviously I don’t know the specifics, but I must have passed something along to you, a trace that stuck around in your unconscious memory. I’m so sorry, that’s not…I would never want you to experience that…” 

He looked so stricken that she couldn’t stop herself from pulling him into a tight hug. “No one should have to experience that, Doctor. No one. It’s fine, okay? It’s just a dream, _I_ get to wake up. You—” She censored the end of that sentence: no need to belabour that point, he was already perfectly aware of his own reality.

“Rose…”

“Doctor, I said I’m okay, alright? Besides, there are other things that could easily be seeping out of my unconscious from that hour, yeah? I’d rather share your pain than…but anyway...” She looked around, ready to change the subject. “Don’t we need to get this back soon?”

Although his stony face suggested he would much rather continue his self-flagellation—no doubt he would later—the Doctor nodded and shifted back into his seat. 

“And let me do some pedalling this time!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Sorrywhatever](http://sorrywhatever.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing this chapter (despite all odds against us, it seemed by the end!) and to [Veritascara](http://veritascara.tumblr.com/) for all her continued advice and support on numerous aspects of this story!

The week that followed was uneventful but in a peaceful way. Once the Doctor realized what was causing her nightmares, he was easily able to shield her from them every night, and simply being well-rested did wonders to improve her mood. As did the revelation that said shielding required a perpetual tactile link in order to function, so just to be on the safe side he insisted on spooning her all night, his hand resting lightly on her side. All night. Just to be sure.

Oh, and the fact that they were raising a baby together, that he was _excited_ about the prospect... That _may_ have also contributed to the air of happiness on the TARDIS over the last week. Rose was finally able to brush her fingers, press her palm, absently stroke the slowly growing bump without guilt and with almost every waking step she marveled at the life forming inside her. But they’d spoken no more about any of those details, the Doctor stepping back to let Rose decide what she wanted, and the elephant in the room was beginning to trumpet discordantly.

“Doctor?”

They were in the console room, the Doctor using a tool that looked suspiciously like a bog standard blowtorch under the console, grimacing frequently as the TARDIS shocked him for his efforts. Rose was sitting on the jump seat trying to get through the first chapter of the pregnancy book the Doctor kept ‘subtly’ directing her toward. Today she found it resting on top of her makeup tray, yesterday it had been on her bathroom counter.

“Mmm?” he hummed, distractedly.

“Is time travel safe for embryos? You mentioned something about chronon particles or something like that once…”

“I wouldn’t keep us here if it was dangerous,” he reassured her, only his feet visible.

“Babies too?”

“Yup!”

“Doctor?”

This time he noticed the gravity in her voice and wheeled himself out from under the console. “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“You said, way back when I first found out, that I, we could stay on the TARDIS or we could, um, live elsewhere…”

Nodding, he sat down on the seat facing her. “The baby can grow up on the TARDIS, it’s a wonderful place, very safe…” he trailed off, apparently imagining every possibility for danger to the baby elsewhere and not liking the odds one bit. He narrowed his eyes, already fighting spiders and errant stray dogs in his head. Viruses, bacteria, nursery nurses bandaging up scrapes with primordial medical supplies… His hearts clenched protectively.

“Or we can find somewhere on Earth in your time. Or whatever time, but I imagine you’d like to be temporally adjacent to your mum. Temporally, not necessary spatially, mind you… Honestly, I’d be happy with either option.” He analysed his torn companion. “And neither is absolute: we could settle down on Earth once he’s school age, or we could buy a house and still go travelling occasionally—on Earth or in the TARDIS.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to go back to London and just…be normal, especially if the TARDIS really is safe for the baby, but…”

“But what?” He brushed back a strand of her hair tenderly.

“It’s stupid and selfish, but I also can’t imagine just staying in the vortex for years on end, maybe punctuated by occasional trips to Earth. I can’t picture us not wanting to kill each other with boredom.”

The Doctor smiled at the wanderlust underlying her words; he understood it all too well. “I told you before, our adventures don’t have to stop. We can leave the baby with your mum, at school when he’s older… Remember, time machine: we can be gone a week and it would only be a minute to them.”

Rose snorted. “Or a year, with your driving. Waaay too big of a risk.”

“Oi!’ he blurted in mock offense, but then looked at her seriously. “I can be precise down to a millisecond if it was something as important as that, I promise. And there’s other ways to be extra cautious about that—as long as we don’t enter anyone else’s timeline, we can always re-adjust our temporal coordinates. I just couldn’t that first time I took you home because you had already spoken to Jackie by the time I caught up to you.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that all worked out for the best anyway, what with that Slitheen spaceship crashing down then…”

“True. I’m sorry though, for not realizing earlier; I don’t know if I said it at the time. I was pretty stubborn back then…”

“I liked your stubbornness,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Thanks,“ he laughed. “Not sure how well it worked out for my poor self… Anyway, how about this for a happy medium? We could get a really brilliant house somewhere: quirky, maybe, with lots of secret passageways and twisting garden paths. Best of both worlds: we could live here on the TARDIS but always have somewhere to stop off, to take a breather and be social for a few weeks or months every so often. Not settling down, _per se_ , but simply having a home base to compliment our intergalactic camper van.”

The smile that broke out on her face nearly caused him to regenerate with elation. “That sounds perfect; can we really do that?”

“Of course. Brilliant! Stupendous! Marvellous!” He rolled the words around his grinning mouth and tried to inhibit his urge to pick her up and swing her around.

To hell with inhibitions.

He planted gleeful kisses on top of her head and gathered her in his arms to release the gallons of motoric overflow surging through his body. Satisfied, he carefully returned her to the floor, reconsidered, and exuberantly kissed her temples, her cheeks, her forehead. There, now he was satisfied.

Welll…

She laughed throughout his manic display but froze suddenly. “My mum… Doctor, I have to tell my mum, huh?”

“Oh, yes. We need a child-minder for when we save the world.” He shot her a cheeky grin.

“Right. And you know, for other reasons too…” Rose sighed but then looked at the Doctor, perplexed as he stiffened around her, stumbled to his feet, and started squeaking out complete nonsense. She played back what she had just said, trying to locate the nexus of his verbal hand flapping. _Ah_. He’d grossly misinterpreted that ‘other reasons’ comment, she realized with a small smile. No wonder he was flailing around like a goldfish who’d leapt out its tank.

“Well, she deserves to know I’m pregnant for more than just her babysitting services, surely…” she clarified.

He calmed instantly and ran his hand through his now decidedly ruffled hair. Combined with his still slightly dazed eyes and mild breathlessness, she suspected this was the closest she’d ever see to a post-orgasmic Time Lord.

Pity, the look was _rather_ mesmerising.

Shoving that futile line of thought out of her head, Rose blew out a long breath. She stood by her earlier decision to keep her mum in the dark when she’d planned to put the baby up for adoption, but now… Her mum was _not_ going to happy to learn she waited until she was fourteen weeks pregnant to let the cat out of the bag.

Maybe she could fudge low long she’d known…

And there was still the matter of _how_ she was pregnant. She kept forgetting about that. Discussing futures with the Doctor, snuggling up with him in her bed every night. She’d have to be careful to remember this wasn’t his child curled up soundly in her womb. She stole a glance over at him, ghosting a palm absently across her increasingly engorged abdomen and saw his eyes follow her hand’s movement with something almost akin to yearning in his eyes. There was a pressing question beating in her head, the one she was most afraid to ask, afraid it would push him too far.

He seemed to guess at least part of what was troubling her and fixed a long, searching stare at her face, opening and then closing his mouth at least once before managing to speak. “Rose, do you…if you want, I’d be alright with you letting your mum think I’m the, um, you know… Just for now, mind, you should tell her eventually, but if you want…”

Sucking in a breath, she incredulously contemplated the man standing in front of her, hands awkwardly in his pockets, his eyes a vulnerable amalgam of eagerness and nerves.

“You’d be okay with telling my mum that this is your baby?”

He blanched a little at hearing it actually verbalised but his voice was collected and calm. “If it would make things easier for you, if you want…We’re raising him together, everyone’s going to assume that anyway. And, um, if you like, we—never mind.” He looked at her, a tinge of fear flashing in his eyes. “But, um, when you say telling your mum, I’d…I think it would be better if you…”

A shaky laugh escaped her mouth, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t make _you_ tell her, you plum… But, Doctor, are you sure? I mean, telling my mother that is basically telling the world, and anyway, she’s going to yell and scold and…”

“Better with two, then.” He fidgeted with his pockets but didn’t take his eyes off her.

Her cheeks were wet when she finally nodded gratefully, folding herself into his already opening arms. Rubbing her back as they stood entwined, he registered her moan of approval when he began kneading his thumbs more firmly along her upper trapezius muscle and shifted to stand behind her and massage her shoulders.

“Oh, that’s nice…tha—ah—anks, oh, god, how are you so good at this? And why haven’t I experienced this skill befo—oh—re now?”

“Hypersensitive tactile input circuitry combined with extensive knowledge of the human musculoskeletal system? Piece of cake…”

“Mmm… Have I ever told you how much I love that superior physiology of yours?”

“Numerous times, I believe.”

He worked her muscles until they were practically liquid and she was half asleep on her feet in bliss. Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, careful to keep his hands above the baby bump, he rested his chin on her head and she relished the sensation of sinking into his arms. He bowed his head closer to her face, his lips drifting over to her ear, and he whispered soft words of—

“Do you want to visit your mum now?”

She was jarred her from her peaceful reverie (and beginnings of a rather nice fantasy…) “What? No! Not in the very least. What I want…what I want is a long nap," she decided. "That neck rub… Well, let’s just say you have permanent permission to repeat that whenever you get the urge.”

“Glad to hear it. Do you want company? Er, I mean, nightmares and all…”

She grinned and looped her arm through his. “Even if I didn’t have nightmares, Doctor.”

He beamed like a cat with its nose in a bowl of cream. “Brilliant.”

\---

She was half-asleep, nestled in his arms, when the question fell unbidden from her lips. "Doctor?"

"Mmm?" He was drifting too, his muscles relaxed and his breathing regular, and there never seemed a better time.

"Did your children travel in the TARDIS with you?"

She almost regretted the question when his muscles returned to their default tenseness but then he exhaled slowly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ears.

"No, I hadn't even met the old girl yet. My daughter came with me once, as an adult, but only as a convenient transport from point A to point B. They…they were more traditional than I, it turned out. Most Time Lords, and when I say most, I mean practically all, stayed on Gallifrey and didn't travel or explore, time or otherwise. Just because we had the technology didn't mean we used it; most thought we were above it."

"That's sad…"

"Yeah, I thought so too. But I was always a little different from the rest, never quite fit in. Non-interference isn't my style."

"No," Rose laughed lightly, trying not to break the spell of his openness.

"My granddaughter though, my son's daughter, she was like me. She was fascinated by time travel, by other worlds. We traveled in the TARDIS when she was a teenager, at least according to your standards. She was with me when I first, er, acquired the TARDIS, actually."

He was quiet for a long while, long enough that Rose wondered if he'd fallen asleep, but then he resumed stroking her shoulder.

"Do you ever think about…could you have kids again? I mean, can Time Lords reproduce with other species?"

A long silence descended and she kicked herself for asking.

"Technically," he finally answered, his voice unsteady. "But not anymore. Physiologically impossible now. It…reproduction was different, babies usually developed _ex utero_ in huge labs… The, um, natural way was extremely uncommon and required foresight and permissions to unlock the sterility constraint in our genes… Anyway, it's all very technical, but the upshot is that at least two Time Lords, one older and with political power, would be necessary for fertilisation and there's just me now, so…"

She reached up and gripped his hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly.

There's more, there's so much more she wants to say but she doesn't. Can't put words to them. Won't risk him skittering away or hurting him again. So she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it instead, snuggling closer into his arms. He squeezed her tight and they fell asleep to regrets and unspoken confessions.

\---

It was a couple of days later that Rose finally mustered the courage to visit her mum, and after a few false starts they were now standing outside the flat, about to knock since Rose had forgotten her house key in the TARDIS. The Doctor was standing stalwart beside her and squeezing her hand supportively, but she couldn’t help notice, bemusedly, that he was ever so slightly behind and to her side.

“Are you still sure about this?” she whispered.

“Yes.” He reached his free hand into his trouser pocket and fiddled with the objects inside. “And, um, well, since we’re raising him together anyway and I know...actually let’s talk about that later. You, um, you have enough to think about right now.” The strange nerves in his eyes faded slightly then and a smile quirked his lips. He removed his hand from his pocket and drummed it on on his trouser leg instead. “Allons-y, Rose Tyler! Oh, I like that, should say that more often...And then, if I ever met someone named—” His voice was louder than hers, and no more than a second later the door flung open with a bang, interrupting his nervous babble.

“I thought I heard you two nattering out here!” Jackie Tyler’s sharp eyes snapped up and down her daughter, registering her baggy jumper and tracksuit bottoms, the way she was clutching the Doctor’s hand, and the look of panic in her eyes.

“You’re pregnant.” Her voice was low and flat and her words were not a question.

The Doctor’s eyes widened and he took a step back, spluttering, but he didn’t lose his grip on Rose’s hand. Had humans developed enhanced olfactory hormone detection in his absence? Or maybe it was just Jackie, there was always something supernatural, something, well, witch-like about the woman…

Rose, for her part, was frozen speechless and their combined reaction was all the confirmation Jackie needed. She sighed and ushered them through the door.

“Come in, then. You’re not hiding in the hallway all morning.”

They entered the flat, the Doctor scurrying through the doorway looking for all the world like a schoolboy on his way to the headmaster and Rose robotically shuffling her feet like she’d already checked out of the ensuing conversation.

Sinking into an armchair, Jackie surveyed the pair. “Well, sit down then. I assume you came to tell me about it, not just stand in the corner with your mouths flapping open.” Something seemed to click together in her head. “Oh, god, you knew you were pregnant last week too, and you didn’t say anything; Rose, why didn’t you tell me?” Jackie was full-out whining now and didn’t care in the least.

“It’s been longer than a week for us, mum, I was…I was barely pregnant, I didn’t…” Rose trailed off, deliberately ambiguous and desperately trying to placate her mother like a naughty child caught in the act. “I’m—“

Jackie cut in, her face a thunderhead. “How far along are you, then? Bloody hell, Rose, I guess I’m lucky you didn’t waltz in here with a toddler!”

The Doctor cleared his throat and pulled himself and Rose to sit on the edge of the love seat facing Jackie. “She’s fifteen weeks along tomorrow, Jackie.”

“I knew this would happen, I said didn’t I? Irresponsible, the both of you. What have I taught you, Rose? You should know better; you can’t just believe ‘em when they say you don’t have to worry about it! I gave you that box of condoms before you left—no, I don’t want to know.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, fixing his eyes on the ground.

Rose hid her face in her hands with embarrassment. “Stop, mum. Just stop it, okay? It’s not…just stop, alright?”

“I most certainly will not!” She turned on the Doctor suddenly with a rapacious glare. “And you! Thousand year old alien, where’s your common sense? She’s twenty years old; she’s a baby herself! And what now, you’re just going to dump her back here like spoiled milk, let her raise your alien offspring while you gallivant off?” Jackie knew she was losing coherency but didn’t let that stop her. “How many children do you have on other planets? On Earth? In London?! It explains why you’re always here.”

Looking increasingly horrified, the Doctor managed to keep his mouth shut during Jackie’s diatribe but finally had to look frantically at Rose for help.

“Mum! It’s not like that, just stop it!” She was close to tears.

“No, you listen to me, madam, if you’re mature enough to get yourself into this mess, you can certainly handle the repercussions of your foolish, _stupid_ actions. You’ve lived on this estate your entire life: what happens to young girls, single and pregnant, eh? Are they—”

“Jackie,” he interrupted softly, “I’m not leaving her anywhere.”

Jackie only snorted. “Right, that’s what you say now. Aliens, humans: men are all the same, in it for the pleasure only. As soon as your unwanted kid is born you scatter, can't handle the responsibility…” Her words were dripping with scorn and disgust.

“Mum!”

“Right, Rose, it’s not too late and don’t you dare argue with me; I’ll make an appointment with your GP now and—"

“Jackie.” The Doctor’s voice was still quiet but laced with warning, the oncoming storm brewing in his eyes. “I’m not leaving her.”

Rose felt him fiddle deftly with their joined hands, barely noticing something warm and sweaty sliding up her finger. His jaw was clenched as Jackie rolled her eyes and prepared the next installment of her rampage but before she could open her mouth he leaned in and snared her in his steely gaze.

“I want this baby— _we_ want this baby, and I’ll thank you to treat my wife and child with respect or we’ll leave right now.”

Jackie gasped and Rose sucked in an inaudible breath. They both stared, open-mouthed, at the fuming Doctor. And then Jackie opened her mouth and emitted a sound that started as a screech and morphed into a hybrid squeal.

“Wife? You’re _married_? Ohhh… High time, too. Wait, when? And why didn’t you tell me? Rose?” Jackie’s words were a maniacal mix of elation, anger, and indignation.

Rose just continued staring at the Doctor in disbelief as he lifted her hand to show off the sparkling diamond that had appeared, somehow, on her left ring finger.

“Oooh, that’s massive, that is.” Jackie cooed, peering in close and twisting her fingers around for a better look.

The Doctor shot her a nervously apologetic smile, but it was quickly eclipsed by one of smug satisfaction as he leaned back against the sofa and wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist.

“When? Rose, couldn’t you have told me? How could you let me miss something like this? Do you have pictures at least? Wait, was it an Earth wedding?” Hope flashed in Jackie’s calculating eyes, and her tone became wheedling. “Because it’s not _proper_ if it wasn’t done on Earth. We can throw you another one, here, and we can invite—"

With another glance to Rose to confirm her continued state of shock, he squeezed her hand and answered Jackie himself. “It’s still very new, Jackie, we’ll talk and get back to you on that.”

Jackie narrowed her eyes as she finally noticed her daughter’s silence. “Rose, sweetheart, you’re so quiet—he didn’t force you into this did he? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you can come home, and—“

Rose finally interrupted, “No! Mum, he didn’t force me into anything, I’m happy.“ She glanced over at the Doctor and then back at her mother. “I’m really, really happy. I just...I want you to be happy for me too.”

Jackie opened her mouth and then closed it again, shaking her head as if she didn’t know how she felt about it.

The Doctor reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the ultrasound photo and handed it wordlessly to Jackie. Rose whipped her head around to him with a confused expression. “They gave it to me when I went back for your jumper,” he whispered.

Peering down at the blurry photo, Jackie shook her head again. “I don’t know what exactly they expect you to see in these. All I see is a blob.” She moderated herself finally, for the first time since they’d arrived, and looked at her daughter.

“A beautiful blob, I’m _sure_ , Rose.”

The Doctor jumped off the sofa and crouched down her to Jackie. “Here’s his head and his body, and you can see his fingers here, by the face, and down here, his fingers are probably in his mouth,” he explained eagerly, unable to temper the awe and wonder he knew was oozing out from his vocal cords as he pointed to the baby’s features.

“It’s a boy, mum,” Rose chimed in faintly, chewing on a nail.

“A little boy, huh?” Jackie took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Well, what can I say? It’s wonderful news—congratulations, sweetheart.” She engulfed Rose in a hug.

“Can’t say I’m too keen on being a grandmother at thirty-seven—“

“Forty.”

“Thirty-nine, then, but if you’re happy, then I’m thrilled for you. Both of you. It was only a matter of time anyway.”

Squirming uncomfortably (the majority of his disquietude, he realized, happened in this flat) the Doctor plopped down next to Rose again, who looked equally fidgety, but Jackie was too distracted to notice.

“Are you showing yet?”

Rose nodded, a smile beginning to break across her face. “Just a little.” She sat up straighter on the sofa and lifted her baggy jumper to show her mum. Truthfully, it looked more like she was bloated after a large Christmas dinner than anything else except that lowest part of the bulge was firmer than the rest. Jackie ran her hand along the bump with a loving smile and then stroked Rose’s cheek, struck silent for one of the few times in her life.

Rose glanced at the Doctor who was gazing at her abdomen with such longing that a lump appeared in her throat. She gestured subtly towards her stomach once Jackie stepped back and an idiotic smile began creeping up his face and into his eyes.

“Sure?” he mouthed.

Rose nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from his tender expression as he spread his palm across the evidence, holding it still and closing his eyes. Two deep breaths later, his shoulders subtly shuddered and her hand joined atop his, the ring warm against his cool skin. He hadn’t meant to spring it on her, had wanted to merely offer its possibility to make things easier on her given the cultural traditions of the people she was going to tell, but he hadn’t been able to suppress the protective impulse a minute ago and he couldn’t help the thrill that raced through his body when he felt it against his hand now, the beginnings of life on the other side.

“Oh, sweetheart, it _is_ still new, isn’t it?” Jackie breathed; this time she was addressing the Doctor and all her trepidation and anger was melted away. She pulled him into a half-hug, standing above him as he continued to brush his thumb along Rose’s distended belly.

The most uncomfortable moments may occur in this flat, he reflected contentedly, but so too did some of the best. The lonely god was firmly knotted between companion, mother, and baby, and for the first time in his life, he had absolutely no desire to run from any of these signals of family.


	13. Chapter 13

Rose had spent the morning almost in tears, trying on what seemed like every pair of trousers she owned and crumpling them to the floor in disgust. She had, until now, been able to manage in her normal clothes, but _apparently_ the baby had grown a stone overnight…

The TARDIS carried her aggravated noises to where the Doctor was hiding under the console. Wellll, not hiding away, he corrected himself, just, er, giving her and the increasingly erratic hormones some breathing space. He'd awoken that morning to her roughly shoving him and the blankets aside and then sobbing in sympathy and self-loathing for hurting the giant teddy who ended up as the latest victim of her wild blanket flinging. 

He swallowed and hauled himself off the grating floor with trepidation, walking at a brisk pace down the corridor and knocking tentatively on her bedroom door: the last remaining barrier from the hyper-reactive pregnant woman behind it. 

“Rose? Are you, um, do you need help with anything?” He held his breath. 

She flung the door open with surprising alacrity and it slammed against the wall. He flinched.

“Not unless you can make my jeans transdimensional like your stupid pockets,” she glowered and turned back to her almost empty wardrobe, hurling the few remaining stacks of clothes to the floor to join the rest. 

“Um… No, sorry.” His mind whirled furiously; he had one chance to make this better or he’d be in for another day of, well, yesterday, and he was pretty sure he and the TARDIS wouldn’t make it through _that_ alive. “But! I’ve been meaning to take us to Wilx for awhile now, they’re universally renowned for their shopping, and…”

“You mention this _now_?” Her tone was dangerous and he gulped. 

“You, er, I…” He hastily considered the most tactful way to remind her that she’d been in such a strop the last few days that she'd more or less refused to leave her room, much less the TARDIS. Nope, no good way to phrase that. “Sorry, I should have...”

Suddenly, she lit up, all smiles and sunshine. “Shopping! It’s been ages, Doctor! Oh, I’m so excited; they’ll have maternity shops, right?”

“Er, yes?” he replied, still on his guard.

“Brilliant! But, oh, right. I still have literally nothing to wear. Nothing. These pajamas, maybe.”

The Doctor stepped back reflexively, maintaining eye contact with the volatile creature in a long yellow sleep t-shirt. He could see her good mood wavering and he was terrified. “Um, what about this: I’ll get you a pair of my sleep sweats for now and we’ll buy you some jeans right away to change into.”

Rose broke out into a grin and he felt his muscles go limp with relief. “Perfect, thanks, Doctor.” She bounced over to him and drew him into a hug before squatting down to rummage through her tops on the floor, humming. 

“Great, I’ll just…” He trailed off, waving his hand vaguely toward the hallway and scurrying away. _Crisis averted_ , he congratulated himself as he made his way to his mostly abandoned bedroom. At least for the time being…

\---

They didn’t talk about it but she didn’t take off the ring he’d slipped on her finger a couple of weeks ago and he stroked his fingers along it whenever they held hands like it was a rosary bead or a lucky talisman. 

And they held hands a lot. Some days it seemed they didn’t let go of one another at all, the Doctor always finding some excuse to loop his arm around her waist as they walked, press his leg to hers when they sat side-by-side, lock knees when they sat across from each other… Rose tried to remind herself that there was nothing sexual in his touch, that it was simply protective affection, but she couldn’t help her body responding with paradoxical heat and shivers when he leaned in to whisper in her ear, as he pulled her closer when they were being observed by outsiders, while his fingers danced absently across the small of her back when he led her down a side street… 

It was all she could do, sometimes, to stop herself from shoving him into the nearest wall and rocking her hips against his for precious friction, fixing her lips on the side of his neck and biting down, running her hands under his shirt and trailing her nails over his bare stomach— Ugh, these stupid pregnancy hormones were certainly not helping either. This morning she had woken up to such a throbbing between her legs that she’d succumbed to a half-asleep rut against him before coming to her senses and shoving him away to cloak her aroused movements. 

Poor guy, she mused now: he’d been so patient with her and her often irrational crabbiness that had emerged like a rampaging bull over the past few weeks. She tried her best to regulate the over-sensitivity and mood swings, reminding herself that this wasn’t his fault, that he was going above and beyond for her, but with no one else aboard he tended to take the brunt of her increasingly capricious temper. 

“Rose? Rooose?”

She startled, becoming aware that he'd been trying to get her attention and disentangled her fingers from his in order to wrap her arm under his jacket and around his waist as they walked through the outdoor section of the colossal shopping mall. “Mmm?” she hummed contentedly.

He seemed distracted for a second but quickly came back to himself. “There’s a maternity clothing store across the way, do you want help, or, um, of course you can…I can wait—“

“Come in with me, Doctor?”

His tense features relaxed into an expression of intense relief. “With pleasure,” he drawled with a slow grin and slipped his arm around her waist as well. They meandered at a leisurely pace across the road and into the pastel-coated shop with a large white stork embossed on the window; some symbols transcended time and space, apparently. 

“Good morning!” the white-eyed woman in the shop chirped at them as the Doctor pushed open the door. “What can I help you look for today?”

“Just brows—" 

“We need an entire second and third trimester wardrobe for this one,” the Doctor interrupted and nodded toward Rose, “nothing synthetic, only the very best.”

“Wonderful,” the saleslady said with an ingratiating nod, “congratulations! How far along are you?”

“Um…” Rose hemmed, not quite sure what with living in a timeless ship.

“Seventeen weeks and four days,” the Doctor supplied eagerly.

The saleslady laughed. “That’s very exact. Okay, let’s look at trousers first and then we can work from there. Why don’t you wander around, grab anything you especially like, and I’ll also pick up a selection and meet you in the dressing room.”

Rose nodded and disengaged herself from the Doctor’s side. The act felt exceedingly odd and her waist felt cold without his hand but the clothing racks were close enough together that they couldn’t browse as a pair. Rose absently perused the selection, paying more attention to the Doctor’s hyperactive bounding around the shop. He was sniffing items of clothing intently, his tongue darting out to taste a few, and his own pile of items was growing by the second.

“Ohh, Rose, this top is so soft, and, ooh, look: this one has a row of baby chili peppers on it, see their tiny little hats!”

“I’m not wearing a t-shirt that says 'hot mama', Doctor,” she laughed, swatting his arm fondly. 

Eventually she wandered back to the dressing room with the Doctor trailing behind with his mammoth stack of cheesy apparel ( _oh, God, was that a pair of trousers with bananas patterned across them?_ ). He dumped it in the luxuriously spacious room, complete with an arm chair and water dispenser, before being lured back into the shop by a jumper with a bright orange ‘caution’ sign printed on its front.

Closing the door with a smiling eye roll, she stripped off the Doctor’s sweats and pulled the least ostentatious pair of jeans from the pile. Truthfully she would have happily just stayed in his pajamas but she had to admit that _possibly_ wasn’t the best long-term solution. Also, it was probably inappropriate to feel so content and slightly turned on at the idea of walking around in his clothing… 

Tugging the denim up her legs and over her hips, she was pleased to see they buttoned without too much effort. She spied a simple white lacy tank top in the Doctor’s pile and pulled it over her head.

“All those clothes are automatically adjusting, so they’ll fit you throughout your pregnancy,” the saleslady chimed out out from behind the door.

“Oh, that’s…um…” Her mouth stopped working when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Until now she'd existed exclusively in baggy jumpers and loose jeans; this new outfit was exactly the opposite, designed to highlight rather than hide the growing baby bump. _God, when did her breasts get that massive?_ Placing her hand on her belly and arching her back slightly, she gaped at her reflection: for the first time, she well and truly looked pregnant.

She vaguely heard the saleslady trying to catch her attention, faintly worried at her lack of response. “It’s quite something, finally advertising it to the world, isn’t it? I’ll, um, I’ll just go grab your husband.”

The next thing she knew, the Doctor was softly knocking on the dressing room door, the saleslady whispering her reassurances. “Sometimes it can be quite emotional in there, I’m sure your wife would appreciate just seeing you…”

When Rose didn’t respond, the salesclerk took out her key and unlocked the door.

“Rose?” the Doctor called out gently. “Are you alright? I’m coming in, okay?”

He slipped through the door and bolted it again, squinting his eyes carefully to make sure she was dressed. “Oh, Rose…” he whispered when he saw her, still frozen in front of the mirror with her hand on her stomach. He moved to stand behind her and met her eyes in the mirror, his hands firmly gripping her upper arms. 

“Rose, you look…you’re so beautiful. You…” His voice was choked and reverent. 

“I’m pregnant,” she forced out shakily. “Obviously I knew, but now, it’s like…it’s like it’s real, like I’m showing him off to everyone, he's... like he's not something to hide.”

“You’re glowing, Rose, you really are…” he murmured and his mouth plunged ahead without his consent. “You—you’re radiant." He dipped his head down to inhale deeply at her neck and spectacularly failed to stop himself from lowing his lips to nuzzle the space where her neck and shoulder joined. When she emitted a quiet noise of pleasure he parted his lips and half kissed, half lightly sucked at the juncture, closing his eyes and emitting a soft moan of his own. She twisted in his arms to face him and his lips found her neck again, trailing soft kisses up and along her jawline, only slowing when he got to the edge of her lips. Breathing heavily, he bowed his head to rest against her forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologised between panting breaths, his forehead still locked on hers. “Your hormones and neuropeptides, they’re, um, intoxicating… I’m sorry, I should be able to control myself better, I will…”

She was breathing heavily too and had sagged a little into his embrace. Neither spoke, but neither did they make any effort to separate themselves back into independent entities. Finally, Rose, pulled her face back from his, maintaining her grip on his biceps. 

“So that's a yes to this outfit then?” Her tone was lighthearted but she couldn’t quite hide her breathlessness. 

He exhaled deeply. “Yes.”

“Here, why don’t you sit down here—“ she gestured to the arm chair, “—and just close your eyes while I try on the rest of the clothes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, sinking into the chair and continuing to stare at her. She didn’t miss the way his gaze seemed mired in the region of her chest.

“Doctor?” she prompted, amused.

“Um, right,” he mumbled, raising his hand across his eyes and angling his eyes away. 

\---

The saleslady brought in a sizable commission from their purchases (the banana trousers did _not_ make the final cut) and she waved them off cheerfully as the Doctor struggled through the doors with several large shopping backs. Rose followed behind in her new jeans and a striped t-shirt, rolling her eyes at the tiny bag she’d been allowed to carry. They stopped by the TARDIS to deposit the haul and then ambled back to the centre of the shopping district to explore the outdoor market stalls. 

Rose animatedly chatted to the stall keepers and exclaimed over their merchandise while the Doctor kept a step back, content to simply hold her hand. He watched her with mild awe as she flitted merrily between the stalls and with mild possessiveness when a rather pretty merchant boy tried to kiss her hand playfully. She never let go of his hand though, squeezing it excitedly now and again and directing his attention to interesting baubles.

“Ooh, Doctor, look at this weather thingy: do you think Mum—“

Suddenly she stopped, pressing her hand to her abdomen and snapping her eyes over to the Doctor with such a startled expression that he swiftly pulled her off to the side of the busy street and roved his eyes up and down her with consternation. 

“What’s wrong? Where’s the pain? Do you—“

“No, Doctor, he…I…here!” She took his hand and pressed it firmly to the side of her swollen belly. “Do you feel it? I think he kicked! I felt something fluttery, and—there! Did you feel it?”

“Ohhh. No, I don’t feel—Oh! I do, just now?”

She nodded enthusiastically and he lightly stroked where he’d felt the movement. “Hello, little one!”

They grinned idiotically at each other, and he engulfed her in a massive hug. “Oh!” he exclaimed giddily, “I felt him kick just now too, against my stomach. Tickles.”

“You did not! There’s no way you could have felt that through all these layers of clothing,” she laughed but knew he probably wasn’t exaggerating.

“Never underestimate the sensitivity of my tactile senses, Miss Tyler.”

“Never.” After a silent minute she grinned again, bumping his shoulder playfully and stepping back into the crowd. “Let’s go get something to eat, it’s more than a distinct possibility that was just my stomach rumbling…”

“Nah,” he said, reaching for her hand and swinging it as they walked, “my superior physiology knows the difference.”

She snorted. “Well, use that superiority of yours to sniff us out something resembling Thai food: I reckon the baby wants some Pad Thai.”

“Oh, you think so, huh? Well, whatever Baby Tyler wants, so shall he get.”

“Even if he wants chips?” she bantered: the Doctor hadn’t let up in his one-alien quest to eliminate anything but vegetables and lean protein from her diet.

“I think—wait—yes, my superior physiology detects him politely requesting salad actually. Salad and some steamed tuna…” His tongue poked out from the side of his playful grin.

“Tough. He’ll have to learn to deal with disappointment sometime…”

“Compromise? Pad Thai and a side salad?”

“Done.”

\---

When they got back to the TARDIS after lunch and set course for the vortex, the Doctor frowned at the control panel and scrolled through the diagnostic readouts. “Suppose I’ve been neglecting you, old girl,” he mumbled under his breath, running a hand along the console. “We’ll soon fix that.”

He turned to Rose, who was watching his exchange with the TARDIS with amusement. “Think it’s about time for a refuel in Cardiff. What do you say as long as we’re on Earth we head to London after and check out houses?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“But,” he reflected, eying her, “first, I think I might take a quick kip. I’m quite tired.” He feigned a big yawn. 

“I’m not tired, but you go ah—“ Her words were drowned by her reflexive yawn in return and he inwardly smirked: humans were deliciously susceptible to social yawn mirroring.

“You were saying?”

“Fine, I guess I could use a lay-down.” She shot a glare at him, perfectly aware of his little manipulations by this point in her pregnancy. “But what I could _really_ use is a back massage: my lower back is kinda sore from all that walking.”

His face lit up. “At your service, my lady. I’ll park us in Cardiff and meet you in the, er, your bedroom”

His landing was brilliantly smooth and he was just patting himself on the back and adjusting a few controls when something on the video monitor made him halt. A dark-haired man with something strapped to his back was running at top speed toward the TARDIS and with him came a feeling of nausea and wrongness. 

Jack.

Bugger.

Not only was the bile rising up his throat with Jack’s every step but his presence also dug up heaps of unresolved and un-discussed issues regarding those last few moments on Satellite Five. Although he knew he'd have to face the man sooner or later, he wasn't thrilled about the emotional impact the facts were bound to have on Rose. 

Pregnant Rose. 

Swallowing hard to keep the pseudo-Thai food in his stomach down, he contemplated his options. He _could_ simply dematerialise and add Cardiff twenty-first century to the long list of times and places to avoid in the future. 

But the Doctor sighed finally, wishing he could run from this but knowing he wouldn’t. Jack deserved an explanation for his likely immortality and for being abandoned on that space station and it was only right that he be the man to give it. Steeling himself and his protesting time sense, he wearily plodded over to the door and held it open. 

“Doctor! Looking good!” Jack was surprisingly nonchalant for a man panting out his breaths and collapsed against the TARDIS doorframe. 

The Doctor just stood silent, watching the man. 

“Saw blurred CCTV shots of you in U.N.I.T. and Torchwood archives but I must say, the reality is much better. How long’s it been since Satellite Five for you?”

“Less than a year.” The Doctor’s tone was measured and gave nothing away.

“You’re a tough man to locate.” He walked fully inside and glanced around the TARDIS. “Rose still with you?”

“Yes. She’s in her room. Jack—you clearly want answers and I’ll tell you everything I know, but let’s talk before you see her, okay?”

“Fine.” Jack broke into his trademark grin. “I’m thrilled you guys are still together; I know I could have caught you at any point on your timeline. You ever get your head out of your ass and kiss that girl, Doc?”

“Don’t call me Doc. Jack…“ he hesitated before continuing, unhappy to bring Rose into this but unwilling to lie. “I assume you’ve noticed by now your…death-impaired situation—“

“The immortality thing? Yeah, hard to miss waking up after dying…on several occasions.” Jack’s eyes flashed bitterness and loss but he maintained his cheerful expression and jovial tone. The Doctor was beginning to see that Jack wore as rigid as mask as he himself usually did; he probably had an almost equal justification for it.

“How much do you remember about Satellite Five?”

“I remember the Daleks shouting ‘exterminate’ and then nothing until I woke up to hear the TARDIS dematerialising and piles of dust everywhere.”

“Rose, she… She absorbed the time vortex and destroyed the Daleks. You were dead and she wouldn't allow it…she cared so much, she was a goddess with the heart of a human, she—Anyway, she couldn't control that magnitude of power and she brought you back forever. Saved your life, but I know… I’m sorry, there's not much more I can say than that.”

Jack closed his eyes for only a brief second. “Okay. I just needed to know. I know it’s not her fault. Is it reversible?”

"No."

"Figured." He chewed on the inside of his plastered smile but then perked up. “Can I go find her now? Surprise her…Oh.” The Captain's cheerful expression fell for the first time since he'd stepped aboard. “Why _did_ you guys take off without me? I…Was it because of what happened?”

“Yes and no. I had to take the vortex out of her and regenerated as a result…I wasn’t entirely in my right mind.” Jack nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer at least for the present, but the Doctor took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. “The other reason was… Jack, you’re a fixed point now, your timelines should have a beginning and an end but instead they’re coiled so tight they're almost solid, close to being infinite. It…it’s painful to be around you, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t exist; it’s like I’m deathly allergic to you. The TARDIS is sensitive to it too, I'm surprised she allowed you to come inside, actually. That and the regeneration…it was just too much. But I’m sorry I didn’t at least give you an explanation before now. I tried to find you, once, but I assume you must have used your vortex manipulator… I could have tried harder. I’m sorry, Jack, I really am.”

“I get it. Sorry to make you queasy, I usually aim for butterflies, not nausea…" He grinned disarmingly but didn’t back away from the Doctor. "I'll save my charms for Rose, then.” He paused. "I can see her now, right?"

The Doctor begrudgingly nodded.

Jack had only taken a few steps, though, when he halted and turned back to the face the Doctor. “Does she know?”

“No. I told her you were busy rebuilding the Earth.”

“You made me a hero…thanks, Doc.”

The Doctor grimaced but didn’t rise to the bait. “One more thing, Jack, before you go find her… She, er, there's something you should—"

A squeal cut him off and a blonde blur hurtled into Jack’s waiting arms. 

“Jack!”

“Rosie! It’s been so long, oh just look at you…” Jack held her out from his body to look her over, his eyes freezing midline. “Look at you!” he repeated slowly, a grin threatening to rise right off his face. He turned to the Doctor with a look of such genuine glee that it couldn’t be part of any facade. “I asked if you’d finally kissed her, obviously I was aiming too low!”

Jack expected at least one or both of them to blush and he wasn’t disappointed; what he wasn’t prepared for was Rose suddenly turning green and dashing back down the corridor. The Doctor shot him a familiar glare and followed Rose at a sprint down into the ship, proving he didn’t need a leather jacket and a rough demeanour to intimidate the pants off him. Smiling broadly at this unexpected turn of events, Jack turned toward the console and fiddled with the controls absently, vaguely recognising that he should be taking the opportunity of a Doctor-less console room to better understand the mechanics of the TARDIS but still too dazed from the sight of a pregnant Rose Tyler and a doting (and open and apologetic, if he was counting up all the incredulities) Doctor.


	14. Chapter 14

“I thought we were over this,” Rose complained to the baby in between violent heaves. “Guess I shouldn’t get complacent when it comes to you, huh?” She heard the Doctor enter the ensuite and pick up a flannel from its long forgotten pile. 

“Do you think it was our lunch?” he asked with a concerned frown, wetting the cloth and dabbing at her face and neck. 

“Maybe?” She paused, a smile creeping up her face. “Probably that salad.”

“Ha! I finished most of that thing when you inhaled the majority of the noodles and stabbed me with your chopsticks whenever I ventured over. To our shared plate, I might add.”

She laughed and accepted his outstretched hand, waiting to pull her to standing. “I can’t believe Jack’s here! Was he in Cardiff?”

“Yep. Came running down the pavement like a madman.”

“Didn't you say he was rebuilding the Forth and Bountiful Human Empire?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” The Doctor looked uneasy. “Rose, I… Well, he’ll fill you in.”

A wary expression flitted across her face but it was abruptly replaced with a slow smile. She grabbed his hand and pressed it tightly against her stomach. “He’s kicking again, feel it? Feels stronger than before.” She bent her head to address the baby. ”Calm down little one, I know you’re excited about seeing Captain Jack, too.”

“He’s not a captain, Rose.” He didn't remove his hand from her abdomen.

“Where have I heard that before?” Flicking out her tongue between her lips, she shot the Doctor a grin and turned to go locate her beloved friend, grabbing a piece of gum from the bedside table along the way.

Jack engulfed her in another hug, perhaps a trifle more gentle this time around, when she made it back to the console room and she leaned into his chest, sniffing in his familiar scent. 

“Sorry about that," she murmured into his shirt, soaking it with her tears. "Oh, Jack, I missed you so much…everything’s changed so much since I saw you last…” 

“Missed you too, Rosie. More than you might imagine.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, furtively glancing back for the Doctor and leaning in close to Jack’s ear. “Did you see that new face?” she whispered with a mischievous smirk, cocking her head toward the empty corridor. 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t kick that face out of bed, if you know what I mean.” Jack made some sort of obscene hand gesture that Rose couldn't quite interpret (and wasn't sure she wanted to know) and his voice returned to normal volume as the Doctor appeared in the doorway. “And by the look of things, you _do_ know exactly what I mean…” 

“The baby’s not mine, Jack.” The Doctor’s voice was quiet but firm as he leant against the frame, disallowing for any arguments on the subject. “She’ll tell you the story if she wants, but _leave it_ if she doesn’t, got that?”

Jack wisely just nodded and dropped a kiss onto Rose’s forehead. "Of course." He watched her fiddle with her rings and avoid both their gazes for a long beat. 

“Well, Rosie, what do you say to some coffee and a proper catch-up? You can tell me about all your adventures and I'm sure I have some new stories for you.”

“Do they involve you ending up naked?”

“Most, not all.”

She laughed. “Then I'm excited. Doctor, you’re coming too, right?”

The Doctor stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched. “No, you two little humans do your chinwags and…blogging; I’ve been neglecting a couple of repairs for awhile now. Rose, call if you need me; the TARDIS will let me know.”

“Doctor…”

“Go on. I’ll join you as soon as I make some progress.”

Rose sighed but reached out to squeeze his hand. “Alright, see ya in a bit. Have fun.”

\---

Over hot drinks and curled up on the sofa, they reminisced for hours, first about facile and laughable events but as time marched on she told Jack about Honolulu and the missing hour that resulted in her distended belly. Horror didn’t even begin to describe his reaction, incensed might be a better descriptor, ready to fight a battle on her behalf even better, but she managed to calm him down before she had another bloody hand to clean up. Truthfully, it was liberating having someone else besides the Doctor to talk to about it and she was thankful not to have to put on a ruse like she'd been doing with her mum. 

Jack, being Jack, didn't shy away from the difficult questions once he was over the shock, though, and the unspoken questions she and the Doctor had danced around for the past few months were quickly thrown into sharp relief. 

“And so the Doctor is just going to raise the baby like it’s his?”

“Um, well, we haven’t really discussed _exactly_ his role, but yeah, I think so? He’s been so amazing about everything, and…”

“So, what, he’s going to be the baby’s father? Your son will call him ‘daddy’?”

“Um…I don’t know, I…” She toyed with the threads on the pillow she was clutching to her chest.

“And what about when that blasted mauve alert rings out? Do you think he’s going to just slough that mantle of responsibility he shrouds himself in?”

“Um…” Her eyes darted around the room as if the answer might be written on the walls. It wasn't.

Jack frowned, setting down his mug on the side table, and she was taken aback to see a paternal look cross his face. “Rose, what exactly have you two discussed? What plans have you made? You can’t just wait for the baby to be born and go from there.”

Rose deflected with tongue-peeked smile. “Look at you all practical and father-like—where did you learn that expression? I feel like I’m confessing to my mum again.”

Jack sighed and sat back, running his hand through his hair. “I care about you, Rosie, I don’t want to see you hurt. The Doctor, he’s a great man, the best maybe, but this isn’t what he does. I’ve seen his U.N.I.T. file: he’s never stayed in one place unless he’s been literally forced. He travelled with his granddaughter for a time but even they parted ways after a few years. Now add in a baby and the slow-paced life that goes along with it… I’m just worried for you; he doesn’t do goodbyes, and besides, his life is so dangerous; who’s to say he won't just fail to come back for a year, or ever, one day?”

She bit her lip; these very questions and concerns were wont to stalk through her mind. “I appreciate how much you care, Jack, I really do. But I decided to keep the baby, with or without him. If he doesn’t come back one day, well, I’m strong enough to cope. I wouldn’t be the first person to raise a baby on their own.” She chewed on the side of her thumb. “I know it’s a possibility. I have to pinch myself on a daily basis with how sw—protective and selfless he’s being. I’ll take the risk. I trust him, and besides, he’s worth it.”

“He’s certainly devoted, I’ll give you that. And I really hope it works out for you; like I said, he’s a great man.” Jack pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “And if you two break up or he disappears, well, I’m here for you, always. Just come find me in Cardiff. I'm in your time, now.”

Rose sank further into Jack’s strong arms. “Thanks Jack, you’re a pretty great guy yourself.” 

“I mean it.”

“Me too.”

A few peaceful moments passed before she spoke again, twisting the ring on her finger. “But we’re not, um, together. Just so you know.”

Jack twisted around incredulously to look at her, his eyes wide. “What? No! But I was… Seriously? Oh, God, the sexual tension I used to have to wade through…No…”

“Nope.” Rose sighed and leaned back on him, her eyes averted. “It…sometimes I think it might happen, but… He’s not human, I think Time Lords must have done things differently, maybe, I don’t know. Our lifespans are so short compared to his, why would he even bother? It’s like…we were on a spaceship a few months back, yeah? With portals into different times in a French courtesan’s life. He met her as a child, a teenager, and as an adult, all in the span of an hour. She knew him her whole life, fell in love with him probably, and died and it was only a day in his life. I think we’re all like that to him...”

She felt Jack nod in understanding and his voice was almost sad. “ _As flies to wanton boys we are to the gods_ … Look, Rose, he’s not a god though; he’s a fallible man with an admittedly extended but still finite life. I…well, a life spent avoiding pain is not a happy one, just a painless one.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but I get where he's coming from. He seems to be changing a little though; especially since I found out I was pregnant. He’s so different now, Jack, he used to be so gruff and avoid any sort of domestics- you remember! And now he’s given me this ring and told my mum we were married, that the baby is his… Can you even imagine our last Doctor doing that?”

“He _what_!?”

“And he was always touchy before—” she continued on and then laughed, “—in both senses of the word, I suppose, but now, he’s—“

She looked up as the Doctor entered the room and her grin lit up the room. “Well, you’ll see…” she whispered to Jack.

Jack watched the Doctor with amusement as his eyes narrowed at the humans’ physical proximity to each other and the way Rose had just leaned up to murmur in his ear. With a smug grin, Jack exaggeratedly drew her closer. “Doctor, nice of you to join us.” 

The Doctor grunted an unintelligible response, his eyes flickering between Rose and Jack, and perched himself uncomfortably on the arm of a chair.

There was a moment of tense silence and Jack took to lightly tapping his fingers along Rose’s arm, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Doctor’s increasingly stormy eyes. 

“Caught up, then?”

“Oh, yes.” 

“What are your plans, Jack? We’re still in Cardiff but we were planning on going to London right after, so…”

“No, Jack’s staying with us at least for the night, yeah?” Rose turned to Jack with sweetness and honey in her eyes: she'd learned that wheedling tone from the very best. “Please? It’s been so long, and besides, it's evening by now, we can look at houses tomorrow, yeah?” She fixed her best Jackie Tyler pleading expression on the Doctor.

Jack grinned, shooting a not-so-subtle look of triumph toward the Doctor. “Of course. We’ll make dinner, break out the hyper-vodka; Just like old times.” 

The Doctor finally broke what could now only be described as a glare at Jack to meet her eye. "Rose, the number of times I have to remind you that this is a time machine… It never has to be evening if we don't want it to be," the Doctor muttered sulkily.

"What if it's evening in my tired little human brain?" she volleyed back, her tone light but her eyes stubborn.

“Fine," he finally acquiesced wearily, dropping his shoulders. "We’ll get started on dinner in the galley—and Rose, if you think you're getting out of broccoli and collard greens again tonight, you're very much mistaken—and Jack, you can go see if the TARDIS kept your old room. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Sure, Doc. I need to make a few phone calls anyway, let my team know where I am.” Jack leaned back contentedly against the sofa as the Doctor helped Rose to her feet. 

“See ya in a bit, Jack!”

Jack watched with a smirk as Rose automatically reached out for the Doctor’s hand as they started for the door but the Doctor eschewed it to wrap his arm around her waist instead, pulling her so close that tandem walking was difficult; she was walking sideways more than anything else and her face was scrunched against her chest. She turned back to Jack momentarily and shot him a wink that he immediately returned, smirking at what actually seemed to be a growl in response from the Doctor. 

\---

Rose sat back happily with her peppermint tea, laughing as Jack became increasingly incoherent from hyper-vodka. The Doctor was matching him on shots that clearly had no effect, although she had to admit the human man was holding his own admirably. Eventually, though, she excused herself to go to bed, having enough of Jack’s progressively raunchy stories designed to get a rise out of the Doctor and the Doctor’s stony glares in return. She'd been feeling mildly queasy all evening, although the tea was helping, and despite the excitement of having one of her favourite people in the universe onboard, there was nothing she wanted more than her fluffy duvet and perfectly worn-in pillow. 

Both men watched her leave the room after receiving a kiss on the cheek each. 

Jack poured himself another shot. “I didn’t tell her what Bad Wolf did. No need for her to beat herself up. Especially while she's pregnant. I can tell her some other time. I will her, you know. The truth is always important to know.”

The Doctor nodded but didn’t say anything, his eyes still on the door Rose had just vanished through.

“Seriously, that girl…woman…Rose…remind me again why you’ve never made a move?”

“Jack…” the Doctor warned. 

“Others will, if you don’t.”

The Doctor grimaced. “She’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“I would.”

Eyes darkening, the Doctor swallowed but a resigned look passed over his face. “I wouldn’t stop her. She deserves happiness.”

“Yeah, she does. You do too, much as you choose to deny it.”

“I’m perfectly happy, Jack – what more could I ask for?”

“Doctor, I know I’m slightly inebriated but it’s true all the same. You can go ahead distancing yourself from joy to lessen the eventual pain, or you can embrace the pain as a reminder of the joy. Trust me, I know, and I’m going to continue to know. _The self-same well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears_.”

“You’ve become well-read,” the Doctor noted glibly.

“A lot of time on my hands.”

“Right.”

Jack took another shot. "I've got kids, you know."

The Doctor smiled wryly. "I've no doubt you do."

"One here in this time, even. Grandson, too."

"Congratulations. I mean it. There's nothing better." He swirled his finger around a small puddle in the middle of the table. 

"I know. At least, I wish I knew." The Captain sat forward; for all the hypervodka in the man's system, he seemed stone cold sober. "There is _nothing_ I regret more than not having her in my life, watching her grow up. You only get one chance to grasp for the things you want; a lifetime to grieve an empty hand." 

“You’re not being nearly as subtle as you think you are,” the Doctor noted, but his shoulders slumped infinitesimally. 

“Wasn’t trying to be. Kiss her. Kiss her or live with the dull pain of regret every single day of the rest of your life.” 

“Regret and I are already familiar bedfellows,” the Doctor muttered, toying with a bottle cap. 

“And you want to add one more to that teeming bed? I mean, I’m all for multiple partners beneath the sheets, but that’s ridiculous.”

“Innuendos to the end, with you.”

“And deflections with you.” 

They held each other’s gaze in a standoff for a moment. The Doctor opened his mouth once, but closed it again and ruffled his hair before standing up. 

“I’m heading to bed. See you in the morning.”

Jack groaned in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, Doctor, you run away from everything don’t you? Nine hundred years old, probably the smartest person in the universe, and yet you have the emotional maturity of a two year old. Why’s it so hard for you to say three simple words?”

He stopped but didn’t turn around; Jack watched the tendons in his neck tighten. Silence ensued.

“I’m tired, Jack,” the Doctor finally muttered, resuming his quick stride down the corridor. 

Jack quickly caught up but not before shooting daggers at the Doctor’s retreating back. "Aren't we all?" he grumbled under his breath. “Fine, have it your way. I’m going to pop in to say goodnight to Rose if she’s still awake.”

He was surprised to see the Doctor smile lightly at his words rather than emit the possessive glare he was aiming for. 

“I’m sure she’d like that.” His tone was suspiciously chipper.

“Do I make her feel sick, too?”

The Doctor grimaced but shook his head slowly. “No, only Time Lords are sensitive to fixed points. And anyway, the TARDIS is mostly buffering it for me now, at least while we’re inside. Not to worry.”

He tapped lightly before opening Rose’s bedroom door. Expecting a chaperone, Jack didn’t bat an eyelid as he stepped inside until the Doctor casually shed his jacket on the floor, hauled his layers of shirts over his head, and climbed into bed with Rose, spooning up behind her slumbering body.

“Good night, Jack.”

“Er, good night, Doctor.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General death-in-childbirth trigger warning (not Rose) in here (it's brief and there will NEVER be anything explicit).

Rose could easily tell that the Doctor was still sleeping before she even opened her eyes the next morning. It wasn’t his rhythmic breathing, hot on her neck as he spooned her closely that cued her. Nope, it was his left hand; his left hand that had, at some point during the night, slipped under her vest top and around her breast, cupping and lightly kneading.

Rose barely stifled a groan. Her breasts were so sensitive lately anyway and combined with his possessive clasp and pregnancy hormones and _wait, was he shirtless_? Closing her eyes and counting to ten, she forced her hormone-augmented arousal to subside enough to think rationally rather than succumb to the urge to moan and rock her hips back against him. Again. 

As gingerly as possible, Rose disengaged his hand and then clasped it tight in her own, rolling to face him in one swift movement that she hoped would appear natural, if not a little sudden. Her top had ridden up quite a bit on her stomach as a result, but truthfully there was nothing unusual about that, what with the now fluttering baby taking up all the space. 

The Doctor blinked awake, looking startled to see her despite sharing a bed being a nightly occurrence for the past few of months. Shaking his head as if to shake loose cobwebs, he finally smiled at her, a slow smile that instantly turned her insides into a tingling mess.

“Morning. I was having, um, quite the dream just now…” he drawled sleepily and yawned, tangling his lower legs even closer to hers. 

Rose couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, really? What about?”

“Er…” He shifted uncomfortably, waking up a bit more, and angling his hips away from her. “Nope, it’s gone now!”

“Your impressive brain can’t even remember a dream that happened a minute ago?”

He frowned, caught in a trap. _Something as unerotic as possible… Drooling walruses, quantum physics_ … “Jackie Tyler!”

She jerked away, looking horrified but recovering quickly. “Quite the dream about my mother?” she asked, eyebrow quirking and a knowing gleam in her eye.

“Um… She had laryngitis?”

Rose burst out laughing, despite herself. “Right,” she drawled, but wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook quite yet. “Well, _my_ dream involved Jack, we were g—“

“Jack!” The Doctor interrupted, pouting his lower lip. “Wasn’t…was there anyone else in your dream?” He tried to effuse a casual tone but failed miserably.

Rose pretended to consider, biting her lip and drawing out a long hum. “Nope. There was a banana though…”

His eyes widened. “A banana?”

“Maybe the banana represented you.” She finally grinned, “I’m only taking the mick: you’re the only one in my dreams these days…”

The Doctor turned smug and preened his neck a little, pulling her closer. “Wellll, unavoidable I suppose, what with the way I valiantly fight off your nightmares all night long…”

“Valiant indeed. My knight in pinstriped armour.”

He hummed contentedly against her hair and she snuggled closer into his chest. His bare chest. _Right_. She pulled back slightly, squelching the urge to run her fingers along the vast expanse of skin. He’d always worn at least his undershirt in bed, why… 

Oh, right. Jack was here. 

Successfully fighting the rising grin this time, she stretched and slipped out of the bed. 

“What time did you guys go to bed last night? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Not long after you,” the Doctor said distractedly, stumbling out of bed himself and rummaging around on the floor for his clothes, “you were already snoring.” He shrugged the white t-shirt over his head. “Um, Jack did come to say goodnight though.”

“Mmm, and I suppose he might have witnessed a possessive Time Lord climbing into my bed?” she asked innocently.

“Umm…I'm not sure _possessive_ is quite the right…um…” He scratched the back of his neck and felt his jaw clench; they had avoided talking about the whole co-sleeping situation, at least explicitly, until this point. His eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking safe harbour anywhere but at his— _the_ —glowing human with the tongue between her teeth.

It didn’t help matters when she slyly crept closer and slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, dislodging his fidgeting fingers. She was close enough that the baby bump pressed firmly into his lower abdomen and he barely suppressed a shiver by biting down on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s okay, you know… All this testosterone flying around the TARDIS. Reminds me of your last body.”

Gulping and gently disentangling her hands, he backed away slightly but managed to hold eye contact, albeit with mild trepidation. “Yes, well, um, I think I hear—"

He was cut off by an actual sound, the noise of the cloister bell ringing from the nearby console room. Eyes lighting up with a combination of relief and anticipation, he grinned and sprinted down the hall, grabbing his jacket off the floor as he went. He was met by Jack, who had also made his way there upon hearing the alarm, Rose following behind the Doctor at an only slightly reduced speed. 

Grabbing the monitor, he ran some quick diagnostic checks. “Looks like something’s happening on Rexius in the Riyian galaxy, not sure what; ah, it’s a distress call of some sort… Better check it out.” He flipped a few levers and dashed around to the other side of the console to turn a dial. He froze, though, as he saw Rose pull her bedraggled hair back into a messy bun and reach for the trainers she kept in the corner of the room. Closing his eyes for a moment before turning to her, he braced for the inevitable argument to come. 

“Rose, um, why don’t you stay here and, uh, be the lookout for trouble on the monitor. I can take your phone and…”

Rose only laughed. “As if! Finally, for the first time in forever, we have something exciting to do!” She continued to lace up her shoes.

He looked at Jack pleadingly, vindicated slightly and grateful for the concerned look on his face as he watched Rose. 

“Rose, honey, listen, we don’t know what’s out there. The Doctor and I will scout it out and call you once we know whether…once we know what’s going on, okay?”

Ignoring Jack, she heaved herself ungracefully to her feet and spun the Doctor around by his shoulder, her eyes radiating danger. “Doctor, you promised, you…” She set her jaw and pulled him into the corridor. “You said nothing had to change, that we could still—“

“Not while you’re pregnant, Rose!” He looked dismayed but his words were unwavering, intransigent. His tone softened and he gripped her shoulders. “You have no idea what’s out there: the entire planet could be covered in toxic fumes, war torn, crawling in microscopic parasites…”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t go either, huh?” she glowered, yanking herself out of his grasp. “If you think this is how it will go down, me just sitting placidly in the TARDIS, knitting or something, while you go out and have all the fun adventures…”

“No,” he veritably growled, “but you’re seventeen weeks pregnant, things can still go wrong, and…” He stopped to inhale a few breaths, hardly able to speak with the protective rage rising in his throat. “Rose, you can’t actually want to fling yourself into an unknown dangerous situation, take a second to think—“

“No, _you_ think,” she spat out with vehemence, “you can’t keep me wrapped up in cotton wool forever, not when I can help—“

He leaned his head onto her forehead like a puppet that had just lost all its strings. “Rose, please,” he pleaded in a broken voice.

“Why don’t you just stay here, then, if you’re so worried…” She sighed. “No, you would never do that. I can’t ever ask you that.” Her words were only half-bitter though; she deflated slightly against him and their joined bodies swayed slightly. 

“Please,” he whispered, despair and apologies radiating out his eyes, and she knew she couldn’t win this battle. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she stormed back to her bedroom without another word. 

\---

She was in the console room an hour or so later, drumming her fingers anxiously on her belly as she peered as the video monitor. The landscape outside was sparse, like a desert but with rolling dunes of purple grass rather than sand. She’d almost been tempted to ignore the Doctor and step outside anyway, but truthfully it was barren enough out there she didn’t even know in which direction to start off. 

And besides, she begrudgingly had to admit, he was right: her baby’s safety was the utmost priority, however over-protective it might seem some days. He’d been so good at taking her to danger-free planets and Earth holiday locations the last few weeks; she couldn’t claim he was keeping her locked up and bored. It was the rejection that stung more than anything, irrational perhaps, but she liked thinking he needed her, that she could help… 

She sighed and squinted again at the monitor as she saw something in the distance move and then disappear. A minute later a figure re-appeared at the top of another dune followed by another. She watched the Doctor and Jack trudge slowly back to the TARDIS, looking no worse for the wear, she noted with relief. 

Just before they got to the door, she saw the Doctor say something to Jack with a glare on his face, but without an audio feed she could only see Jack’s solemn nod as he muttered something back. She settled herself onto the jump seat, arms crossed, as she heard a key in the lock.

The Doctor sought her eyes right away but immediately dropped his gaze to the floor after he'd caught them. 

“Save the day?”

“Oh, er… False alarm.” He scratched the back of his neck and then his hair, finally settling on scratching his lower arm, still avoiding her eyes.

She looked perplexedly at Jack, who only nodded and turned to the console, studying a square knob intently. 

“Doctor, I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s fine, I’m sorry to have…well, I’m just sorry.”

“I know.” She walked toward him for a hug but he was stiff in her arms and only gingerly patted her back in return. 

“I have a few things that need attention in the back of the TARDIS, I’ll, um, I’ll let you two hang out for awhile and then take us somewhere interesting for dinner, okay?”

Rose looked at the Doctor searchingly but when she was met with only stone walls in his eyes and a blank face she just shrugged. Once he’d escaped, she turned to Jack with her hands on her hips.

“What really happened?”

“No, he’s telling the truth. A child somehow managed to set off a national alarm system from a transmitter in his tiny village. Very clever but…um, ultimately it wasn’t a national emergency. Nothing we could do anything about, in any case.” 

Rose narrowed her eyes. “Then why is he acting so aloof?”

“Maybe he feels bad about your argument, or… Listen, let’s give him some space and if he doesn’t emerge for dinner we’ll track him down and tackle the crankiness out of him.” Jack’s eyes lit up a little at his latter words, his eyebrows dancing a jig. 

Giggling, she hooked her arm through his. “What should we do then?”

“Is that waterfall swimming pool with the rainbow-coloured water still here? Always meant to take advantage of that before.” Jack shot her a playful wink and dragged her down the corridor. “Don’t you dare deny me that, Mrs. Spock…”

\---

The Doctor did indeed head for the bowels of the ship but bypassed the boiler room entirely, kicking open the door to his bedroom. It was musty and dark and he suspected the TARDIS was intentionally keeping it looking unused for a reason; she usually kept it light and airy no matter how long it had been since he slept. 

Kicking open the door wasn’t enough and he gave the bed a good swift kick as well. Collapsing on top, he covered his eyes with the heels of his hands but kept his eyes wide open, preferring the shadows of his hands to the thoughts and images that flooded his vision when he closed his eyes.

He hadn’t been lying about the false alarm, at least about it being a false alarm on the usual planetary level. A tenacious child had somehow managed to hack into governmental computers and had sent a distress call to the highest echelons of the inter-continental congress, which, when unheeded, was picked up by the TARDIS. The little boy, no more than six or seven Earth years old, was reacting with desperation to his mother’s pain and blood loss while giving birth, helpless to do anything more than call the ultimate version of his planet’s 999.

The Doctor and Jack had arrived too late to do anything, finding the little boy sobbing over their motionless bodies. A number of other adults were crowded around, one gently trying to extract the boy but standing back after a few tries. The Doctor quickly checked pulses for signs of life but stood back grimly, only shaking his head and nodding his head at Jack to indicate that they should leave. 

Rose would die, the baby would die. They were already dead and had yet to exist and their lives would be over in the blink of an eye. 

_This_ was why he ran from domesticity and family. Not because he feared commitment, or the ennui of houses and nappies, or any of the clichés. His fears lay in not being able to commit enough, to be stuck with floors and curtains for only a finite droplet of time. To attach so deeply to the body and soul of another that he would be forced to carry their corpse sewn to his heart until the end of his painfully protracted days. 

\---

After dinner at a restaurant that clung to the side of a cliff overlooking a sea pocked with colossal whirlpools, the Doctor landed back in Cardiff to drop Jack off. 

Amidst numerous hugs, Jack leaned in to murmur in Rose’s ear. “Don’t forget, I’m always here for you. Okay?”

She smiled gratefully at her friend’s offer, tears beginning to dot at the inside of her eyes from the emotions of his departure. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped back reluctantly.

“Stay in touch, yeah?”

“Of course, and I want to meet my godson as soon as he’s born.”

Rose laughed indulgently while the Doctor looked like he was going to say something but instead a sour expression flittered across his face.

Jack glanced sidelong at him; he’d been quiet all evening and was now standing stiffly off to the side. “Get him to land in Cardiff more often too," he told Rose "I gave you a contact number, call me anytime. You too, Doctor.”

The Doctor grunted something unintelligible in response, his hands firmly in his pockets. Jack laughed, “I’ll assume that was something along the lines of ‘I look forward to sexting." The Time Lord predictably sputtered in response, muttering something about dyschronic terminology.

Jack blew them both dramatic kisses and waltzed out the door, grabbing his oversized rucksack on the way out. Rose turned to the Doctor, surprised that he remained in his tense stance; she'd assumed it was just Jack’s presence that had set him on edge that evening but it seemed there was more to the story. Knowing she would never get it out of him in the safety blanket of the console room, she strategised.

“I’m knackered.”

“Knackered and cream crackered,” he bantered back, his words carefully jovial but his tone limp and his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Cream crackered…haven’t heard that since primary school. Anyway, I’m heading to bed.”

The Doctor, with his hands still in his pockets, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and avoided her eye. “Good night then. Wait, um… I thought of something to help with your nightmares. May I?” He held out his hand toward her temple inquisitorially.

Rose nodded with a weak smile and he pressed his fingers to the side of her head only for a second before stepping back. “There, I put up a temporary shield. I’ll have to redo it every night, but now…” He trailed off and looked away again. “Anyway, good night.”

Hesitating, she tried to catch the Doctor’s eye as he raptly flitted around the controls, twisting a few to check their durability and looking under others for dust or something. She didn’t quite know how to ask whether he would still join her in bed tonight but with a wary eye at the Doctor’s avoidance behaviour she suspected she didn’t want to hear the answer. By removing the threat of nightmares, he had eliminated the official rationale for nightly skin-to-skin contact. Sighing quietly and rubbing her hand over what was either nerves or the baby fluttering, she finally turned away.

“Night, Doctor.”

\---

She woke up alone, no nightmares and no Doctor. Glumly making her way out of bed and into the shower, she didn’t bother to wash her hair and just stood under the hot water for a long while. The steam must have made her dizzy because she suddenly leapt out of the shower at a familiar rolling of her stomach and heaved into the toilet. She almost held her hand out for the washcloth, but remembered that she was alone. Flushing the toilet, she crawled miserably over to the folded pile of flannels and wiped her mouth and at the sweat behind her neck. She tried to stand up to locate her towel and dry off but had to sink back down again dart back to the toilet to evacuate the rest of her stomach’s meagre contents. 

When the nausea finally passed, Rose shuffled back in the shower to rinse off and began her morning routine, towel drying and scrunching her hair, and slipping into a pair of the new maternity jeans and an old t-shirt that was still long enough to cover her bump. A quick application of the organic moisturiser for which the Doctor had scoured a 29th century Boots and a light layer of mascara later, she made her way to the galley.

The Doctor wasn’t there, but there was a note on the table that informed her that breakfast was in the microwave. Opening the device to confirm it was something light (her stomach wasn’t up to anything heavy), she smiled to see porridge with blueberries dotted on top. She made herself tea while the food was heating and thumbed through an old magazine as she ate, glancing up at every small noise for the Doctor but being disappointed every time.

Rinsing her bowl when she was done, she put it in the dishwasher and made for the console room. He wasn’t there. The library and media room were next on her circuit but they were empty and silent. She considered trying to find his bedroom; she knew it was somewhere far in the back of the ship but had never actually seen its location, only used to see the Doctor heading down that direction occasionally. After another circle of the prime locations, she finally had to acknowledge he didn’t want to be found and decided against searching for his mysterious bedroom. 

His absence was discomfiting: this wasn’t, by far, the first time he’d disappeared for long periods of time but it was the first time in the last four months, since they’d become closer because of the baby. Was he finally panicking about the future? They _had_ been planning on checking out housing locations before Jack had come aboard, maybe the prospect had frightened him off upon further reflection. Or was he still angry at her for wanting to come on that distress call? And then there was that odd distress call itself, the one that neither Jack nor the Doctor had wanted to talk about… 

She dragged herself to the onboard gym to do the daily light jogging and yoga exercises one of the pregnancy books had recommended and then changed into a dowdy black one-piece and did a few laps in the pool. Usually the Doctor was right there by her side, going through everything at the same time, even the yoga poses much to her amusement: a hyperactive Time Lord sitting cross-legged and hands clasped together, meditating, was truly a sight to see. But not today.

With a dearth of Doctor sightings when she finished a couple of hours and a spa shower later, she made her way back to her bedroom, feeling a little light-headed after the extra exertion that her nervous energy had engendered. She had just propped herself up against the headboard, intending to do some reading, when nausea reared up and she had to race to the toilet for the second time that day. It was even worse than the morning round, though; her stomach was quickly emptied but the intense queasiness remained and she had dry-heaved for a few minutes before she felt well enough to collapse back against the wall, panting heavily.

Slowly, she raised her head from between her knees and tried to stand up, but the movement caused another round of dry heaves. Her muscles aching and her head throbbing, she crawled back to her bed as the stomach contractions abated at a snail’s pace and she collapsed into a fitful half-sleep. At some point she heard the Doctor tiptoe in and touch the back of his hand to her forehead and she finally fell asleep properly.


	16. Chapter 16

When she woke up, the subtle change in background hum indicated that they had landed somewhere and she jumped out of bed, feeling much better after her nap. Sliding her feet into flip-flops, Rose put her phone into her pocket and walked to the console room. The Doctor was, unsurprisingly, under the console, only his feet poking out.

“Where are we?”

“Ah, hello,” he said in a muffled voice, remaining in his hiding spot, “Yes, well, I though you might like to visit Jackie for awhile? Um, only if you want, she doesn’t know we’re here, but I though you might like some time with her.”

Freezing, Rose stared at his feet, her mouth going dry and her heart beating faster. Was this it? Was he just going to leave her here? No, he wouldn’t do that; he’d promised and still had complete faith in that.

She twisted the ring on her finger. “Doctor, can we talk first?”

He slowly wriggled out, standing and facing her but not quite meeting her eye. “Of course, but we don’t have to stay here, we can—”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just, well, um, are you mad at me for something?”

“No!” His eyes widened and he looked distraught. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, I’ve just had some things to do and—“

“If you are, you can say, you know,” she interrupted, biting her lip. “If I’ve done something…” 

“No, you’re perfect. Um, that is, what I mean to say is…”

“It's just that you've been really distant since yesterday and I couldn’t find you this morning.”

He puffed out a breath of air. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise, I just want to know why. If you’re having doubts, or—“

He took a step toward her, taking his hands momentarily out of his pockets but then clenching his fists and inserting them back again. “Rose, I swear, Time Lord’s honour, I promise, I… Nothing will make me leave you or the baby. Please believe me, I would _never_ …”

“But would you tell me? If you were having doubts?” She managed to meet his eye but he quickly deflected to a spot just over her shoulder. Noticing she was fidgeting with his ring, she stopped suddenly and forced her arms to lie still at her sides.

He hesitated, fiddling with a lever on the console. “Honestly, probably not. Everyone gets doubts at some point. I would never act on them.”

“But why can’t you just tell me? Maybe we can work through them, even just talking about them… And I can tell you mine, and we can—“

“I can’t,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now, maybe ever… I…they’re too private.” He began rocking on his feet and attempted a smile. “Besides, they’re tiny, insignificant, miniscule, nominal…” 

“And how’s that going to work? You just go missing for hours on end and then we just go on like nothing’s happened?” Her voice had risen but then she softened. “Are you thinking about your children? Your family?”

“Well, that’s part of it,” he admitted, his eyes on the ground and shuffling his feet.

“Are you worried that this baby will…” She halted, unable to go further in this conversation without clarifying something Jack had brought up. She was loathe to bring it up when the Doctor was clearly worried about other things, but if she didn’t broach it now it might go unanswered until the baby was born. Or _years_ down the road, if he had his way. 

“Listen, I need to know— and whatever you want is fine—but just so I know what to call... Anyway, we haven’t really discussed…” She was bumbling this up.

He half-smiled at her, waiting for her to continue.

She finally flung caution to the wind and spit it out. “What do you want to be to the baby? Uncle? Godfather? Um…”

He stilled his nervous movements and swallowed, glancing at her, down at the ring on her hand, and then back up to her eyes. 

His mouth opened and then closed again.

They stood in painful silence until Rose finally gave up. “Whatever. Why don’t you just let me know, you know, sometime before he goes off to university,” she huffed, striding over and out the door without a backward glance at the Doctor.

Once again she didn’t have her house key but before knocking she leaned her head on the door, trying to collect herself. He’d been so open and affectionate the last few months; she’d thought, _hoped_ , that he was losing some of the darkness and inhibitions that he usually dragged around. Perhaps they'd just been in some sort of Time Lord hibernation. How could she do something as emotionally-consuming as raise a child with a man who hid away instead of acknowledging his feelings, who couldn’t even say what he wanted the baby to call him but could slip a ring on her finger without her knowing and announce to her mother that they were married? She closed her eyes and then finally knocked.

Her mum opened the door and Rose tumbled into her arms. 

“Rose! Oh, you’re here, oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Where’s himself then?” Jackie craned her neck into the hallway.

Rose reluctantly stepped back and sighed. “We’re kinda fighting right now.”

Jackie gave her a knowing nod and ushered her inside. “I remember this part, seemed like your dad couldn’t get anything right while I was pregnant with you.”

Sinking down onto the sofa, Rose just nodded and clutched a pillow in front of her stomach, dropping her neck to rest on the sofa back. 

Clicking her tongue, Jackie surveyed her daughter. “You don’t look too hot. Can I get you anything? Tea? A sandwich? Soup?”

She closed her eyes. “Ta, but no. Feeling a bit sick to my stomach; I think morning sickness is back with a vengeance.” Raising her head, she turned to her mum and cracked open one eye. “You mind if I stay for a few days maybe? Could use a change of scenery.”

Jackie looked delighted, close to clapping her hands together in glee. “You never have to ask: this is your home, you know. You can call some of your old mates, they’re always asking about you, and you can come down to the salon and get a proper haircut, and…”

Rose hummed, closing her eyes as her mother gave her verbose Time Lord a run for his money and leaned back against the sofa again. _The_ verbose Time Lord. Not hers.

She opened her eyes again when there was a soft knock at the door and the Doctor tentatively cracked open the door and shuffled inside. He nodded at Jackie, who had fallen silent, and Rose’s eyes followed him as he perched on the arm of an easy chair. Her eyebrows had shot upward at his presence, sure that he would have planned to hide away on the TARDIS while she was with her mum. She reached out and briefly squeezed his hand, grateful that despite whatever was making him emotionally distant at the moment he was still showing his continual physical support, at least. He squeezed back, although he didn’t meet her eye, but even that was enough to reduce the niggling anxiety in the pit of her stomach and make her feel loads better. The clenching vice on her stomach finally let up, too. 

“Actually, Mum, on second thought I am pretty hungry.” She stood up and wandered over to the kitchen. “What do you have in?” 

\---

After a light snack of two bacon sarnies, a bowl of cereal, and a large glass of milk, Rose and Jackie settled back on the sofa to catch up (this consisting mainly of Jackie talking and Rose lazily flipping through the current issue of Hello magazine and humming occasionally in response). 

The Doctor eventually relinquished his stiff perch to flop into the middle of the chair, his long legs hanging over one of the arms. He had pulled a book and his glasses out of his pocket but was either reading at an extremely slow pace, even for a human, or was paying more attention to their conversation. The pretence was finally given up when Jackie switched on the telly for Neighbours at 5:40 and he dropped the book, pocketing his glasses and angling himself toward the television. 

A pizza delivery, the full round of soaps finally complete, and several yawns by the human females later, Jackie kissed Rose on the cheek and left to get ready for bed, but not before planting a loud kiss on the Doctor’s cheek as well. He visibly shuddered but didn’t make any overt noises of protest. 

Rose watched him warily as she stretched her legs in front of her and arched her back, cramped and sore from being curled up on the couch for hours. 

“I’m going to hit the sack too,” she remarked softly, “I’m feeling a little queasy after all that pizza actually…”

“You’re feeling sick again?” he asked, concerned, and quickly stumbled out of the chair to stand in front of her. 

“Just a bit, only started up again in the last hour or so.” Sighing, she attempted to get to her feet but over-balanced and fell back down on the sofa again. Smiling and groaning at the same time, she accepted his outstretched hand to help and finally stood up. 

“So, um, are you going to do the, uh, mental block thing or do you want to…”

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “Did it work last night?”

“Yes.”

“Right, good, um, let’s stick with that, then, if it’s effective.” He raised his hands to her temples and down again, and she couldn’t help noticing his hands were shaking slightly.

“Thanks, I—Oh, he just started kicking! Obviously _he’s_ not ready to sleep yet.”

The Doctor gave her a weak smile and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Anyway, good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Rose. Sleep well.”

She plodded to her old room, forcing herself to stay strong and not sneak a look back at the Doctor. The mattress seemed hard and the sheets scratchy and she tossed and turned for a while, trying to find a comfortable position with the baby kicking up a storm. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, with a violent roll of her stomach, Rose scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom across the hall, surprised to see the Doctor lift his head up from the sofa as she dashed past. She heard him creep into the small bathroom behind her as she was hovering over the toilet bowl watching partially digested pizza float in the water. He didn’t say anything, but as he handed her a damp flannel she wordlessly shooed him out of the room, his presence seeming pitying instead of caring for the first time. She heard the door close softly behind her as she continued to cough up every molecule of food she'd ever eaten. 

\---

The next couple of days at Jackie’s followed the same general pattern, the Doctor staying in the room but generally keeping out of the way while Rose and her mum went about their activities. Rose was able to get her hair trimmed the next day but afterward was confined to the flat because of her increasingly strong morning/afternoon/evening/night sickness. The Doctor scanned her a few times with the sonic screwdriver to make sure she wasn’t running a temperature, but when everything came up normal he did his best to leave her alone. 

Despite his desire to wrap her up in his arms, wipe her forehead, stroke her hair, kiss her eyelids...

He knew that physically distancing himself from her had to be the most prudent course of action for them both but his skin seemed to crave hers, his fingers itching so badly to touch her every time she was near that he had to resort to sitting on his hands on several instances to quench the desire. Just another sign that they had gotten unnaturally close over the last few months: she’d become an addiction. 

He’d been addicted to her since ‘run’, he had to admit in more truthful moments.

A muffled sob from the kitchen made his eyes snap up from the same book chapter he’d started two days ago. Jackie had run out to the shops so he quietly closed his book and tiptoed over to the kitchen door. Rose was standing at a sink of dishes, her hands in elbow-high yellow rubber gloves and tears steadily streaming down her face. Her jaw was clenched at the effort of keeping them inaudible. She looked so small and fragile hunched over in her knee length oversized t-shirt that his hearts contracted deep into his chest but he was frozen in place, both with distress and indecision. 

“I’m fine, just, please…” She didn’t turn from the sink. 

“Rose…”

“No, just…go away, okay?” she choked out, her lips shaking at the effort of damming back her grief.

That was enough to drive a resolution and he strode forward without hesitation and wrapped his arms under hers from behind, his hands resting on her shoulders and keeping his eyes lowered. He didn’t say anything, just held her as the tears sprang afresh.

After a time, tentatively chiselling a window in his protective fortress, he gently turned her face towards his as he rotated her toward him, just a few degrees, with his other hand. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered, locking his gaze on her.

She looked at him searchingly for a minute and finally ducked her head and squirmed out of his arms. “Look, it’s stupid and probably 90% pregnancy hormones, but…ugh, I can’t even say it without sounding petulant, so…”

“Tell me, Rose.”

She puffed out air slowly between her lips. “Something’s changed between us, like… You won’t even hold my hand anymore, and I know you’re not doing anything wrong, you’re doing everything textbook ‘right’… Just… I miss _us_ , like we were before Jack came back, or actually, before he left, and I don’t know what I did wrong…” Tears were flowing again by the end of her words.

He sucked in a deep breath, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t fireworks, it wasn’t an star-glazed epiphany or a ice-doused realisation. They hadn’t narrowly escaped death and they hadn’t saved the universe. No rising arpeggios, no violin crescendos, no reverberating drumbeats. 

She was facing away from him, standing in soapy rubber gloves and a ragged old t-shirt. A neighbour’s argument drifted in through the cracked windowpane. A fly buzzed somewhere behind them. 

And there was the sound of dynamite and demolition, miles of sturdy walls crumbling to the ground and their rubble being bulldozed away. 

He tightened his arms around her and felt her stiffen up. “Don’t. Don’t do this and then turn away again in an hour, I can’t deal with—“

Pulling her even closer, he dipped his mouth to hover by her ear. “Father.”

He felt the skin of her forehead tauten against his temple in confusion. 

“I’d like to be his father. Please, let me be his father.”

Respiration hitched for them both as she turned her head back to stare at him, tempered and downtrodden hope swarming the air like a cloud of locusts. Eventually a smile dawned up her lips, growing in response to the smile mirrored on his lips in a feedback loop.

“Yeah?” she asked through her grin.

“Yeah.”

"You want him to call you 'daddy'?"

"More than I've ever wanted anything."

“I want that too,” she whispered through a constricted throat. “I didn’t know if that was what _you_ wanted.”

“I’ve always wanted that. You and me and our…baby. Ours. I was just too afraid to ask, I didn’t want to assume…”

She raised her hands to capture the Doctor’s, pulling them down to rest on the swell of her abdomen. Despite their closeness in the past few months, the last couple of days excluded, he had remained reticent to touch the baby bump unless she explicitly offered, always resting his arms on her waist or side when they hugged or spooned at night. She’d been a little worried about his disconnect, concerned that for all his sincere promises and plans he would fall apart at the reality of an actual baby. Now with his admission that he wanted to act as the baby’s father, not just in this silly façade in front of her mother, she realised it was much more that he hadn’t felt entitled, a fact she was determined to rectify. 

She started to lift her t-shirt over her stomach, not especially caring that she wasn't wearing trousers. The Doctor wouldn’t relinquish his grip on her belly so she had to slip the material gently under his fingers until they were finally skin-to-skin on her abdomen. His breath hitched and he ran his fingers along her stomach in achingly gentle pulses. 

“Did you feel him kick?” she asked quietly. "I think he's okay with that, too."

He nodded silently against her shoulder and she felt a single drop of liquid run down her neck. It merged with her own tear streams.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into her hair, still caressing the baby bump, “I won’t distance myself again, I… I was afraid of losing you, losing our…our son—" He paused to swallow as an involuntary shudder of pleasure shot down her spine. “But it would only ever be a half-life, trying to keep my feelings out of the equation. I don't care if he'll only be in my life for a day or a century: every millisecond will be worth it.”

Speech was futile so she simply lifted his hand and kissed it in gratitude before letting it drop back down. 

“I do love you, Rose, you must know that,” he said, taking back her hand and placing it under his on her abdomen. “And I love you,” he whispered, this time clearly directing his words to the baby kicking furiously under his fingers. Rose gaped. “Er, you know the Greeks had four words to describe love, and the Plixioni had seventy-seven words, one of which—“

She cut him off. “I love you too, Doctor.”

“Yes, well…” he looked ready to recommence his babbling but as her words sunk in he stopped and a daft grin slowly lit up his face; as it reached his eyes he finally broke his connection with the baby and adeptly slipped his hands into the rubber gloves still on her hands, dislodging them from her fingertips as he slowly brushed his fingers down her arm and over her hands. 

“What are you doing, washing dishes? Haven’t I told you about one of the best quirks of Gallifryean physiology? I’m _brilliant_ at washing dishes. May have a doctorate in it, actually…”

Rose quirked her eyebrows as she cleared her throat. “I’ve never once seen you do dishes.”

“What, do you think the TARDIS cleans up after us? Ha! Tried asking once, came into the galley the next day only to find myself on a plank above circling sharks.” By this point he had plunged his hands into the now cool soapy water and was scrubbing between the tines of a fork with the precision and intensity of a surgeon. She was still in between his arms.

“There’s a pile of dirty dishes up to the ceiling in the galley right now, Doctor.”

“Welll,” he drew out his syllables, shrugging, “I used to do them while you slept, but recently…” He tried to look serious but a grin still shone out the corners of his mouth. He flung a plate onto the dish rack, wincing when everything tumbled over and the sound of cracking porcelain filled the kitchen.

Ducking under his arms with a laugh and sinking down gratefully onto a kitchen chair, she watched him scrub while massaging the small of her back. “So you’re saying they’re all clean now, since I slept alone the other night?”

His grin dropped. “I wasn’t in the mood.”

Chewing her lip, she watched him for a beat. “Are you…Will you stay with me tonight? I like it when you’re there.”

He nodded, apparently studying the edges of a ladle in an attempt to act nonchalant but she saw him fighting a goofy smile. Gingerly balancing the last mug on top of the stack of clean dishes, he held his fingers immobile over the pile, willing them to remain upright, and finally breathed a sigh of relief and pulled off the gloves. 

Collapsing in the chair across from her in an exaggerated display of exhaustion, he lifted her bare feet into his lap and began to massage them, his posturing reminiscent of a cat with a canary in its front paws. Rose clenched her jaw and did her best to endure his light brushing strokes but finally arched her back and giggled, snatching her feet away from him. 

“I’m sorry! It was so nice, really, but it ticked so much!”

The Doctor chuckled. “That was your first and only chance at a foot massage. You wasted it.” His face turned a little more serious. “How about your back? I saw you rubbing it earlier.”

“Doctor, I know what you’re doing: you don’t have to make anything up to me, honest.” She put her legs back on the his knees and wiggled down in the seat. “And I’m feeling loads better anyway: think this is the first time in days I don’t feel sick.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He started absentmindedly kneading her calves and she hummed a little and closed her eyes in appreciation. 

All too soon, the Doctor silently bemoaned, they heard the sound of a key in the lock and Jackie pushed open the door with her hip, two large bags in her hands. He weighed up the options of taking a bag from her or staying nestled with Rose and her bare leg. The latter option won by a landslide: humans had two hands, after all…

“I ran into Fern Hanson outside M&S, remember her?" Jackie commented while slipping off her shoes and shifting both bags into one arm. "She was in the year right above you, newly qualified as a midwife, and when I told her all about you being pregnant and—“ 

“Mum…” Rose groaned.

“What? You _are_ pregnant, unless that’s just a beer belly you’re tucking away under there. Anyway, when I told her all about you and that you’d been away travelling, she gave me all sorts of advice to tell you.”

Rose rolled her eyes but let her mum continue. 

“Nuts and seeds are trendy right now so I bought some walnuts and a jar of fresh almond butter—“

This time the Doctor cut her off. “Oooh, I’ve been considering almond butter, thought maybe I could sneak it on her toast. Nothing but high glycaemic index carbs, that one…”

“Rose! You have to eat your nuts and greens and—oh, what did she say—legumes!”

“I try to get her to eat those but she takes one bite and refuses; I finally baked her a pan of brownies with blended up blueberries and spinach hidden inside. Let me tell you, _that_ one at least worked. Whole pan: gone in a day.”

“Doctor! Wait, you didn’t tell me about the brownies… Come to think of it, they did have an odd aftertaste, thought it was that chocolate from Graxitio…”

“And don’t even get me started on fish,” he went on in an exasperated tone, ignoring her completely but continuing to massage circles into her ankles, “she gags at the sight of it but will happily go for fish and chips; it’s clearly psychosomatic by this stage…”

Jackie nodded wisely. “I had the same problem with her as a child. Try some organic fish fingers, she used to love those. Saw some at Tesco’s yesterday with parmesan and chia seed breading, ‘s gotta be healthier than those disgusting microwaved cheese-and-tortilla wraps I bet she’s devouring.”

“Yes!” the Doctor cried just as Rose groaned.

“Mum!”

“We care about you, Rose,” her mum cooed at her as if she was a toddler, ruffling her hair as she started unpacking the grocery bags. “Oh, and Fern said to remind you that you’re supposed to go in for a foetal abnormality screen between 18 and 20 weeks. You’re what, 18 weeks now?”

“18 weeks tomorrow,” the Doctor confirmed, squeezing her calves gently. “Want me to book you an appointment before we head off?”

“You can go see Fern’s new husband, he’s an OBGYN down at the clinic by—wait…” Jackie narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. “Blimey, my grandson is part alien isn’t he? Oh, it didn’t even occur to me until now, your Doctor’s been so…normal lately…”

The Doctor and Rose glanced at each other for a second before looking back at Jackie who was pacing up and down the small kitchen. “Is he going to be green? Three eyes? Wait, you have two hearts, don’t you?” she realised, turning to the Doctor sharply. “Will the baby have two hearts?”

“Er…” he hemmed, looking at Rose who almost imperceptibly shook her head at him. “No, probably not, no, that is, um, he’s half-human, so, he’ll most likely be exactly like a human, in, um, every way.”

“Will he grow a new body, like you?”

“Um, no, he won’t regenerate.”

He saw a sad look cross Rose’s face as she lightly drummed her fingers across her belly and suspected a similar one passed over his own. 

“Will he have any superpowers at all?”

“I don’t have—”

“So this kid is basically human then? Is he like you at all?” 

A slow smile crept up the Doctor’s face. “He’ll be brilliant.”

Rose leaned forward with some effort and a great deal of twisting to grab his hand as Jackie swotted the back of his head with a smile on her face.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t get a scan here on Earth anyway; promise me you’ll get one _somewhere_ though, Rose.”

“Promise. I think the TARDIS has all the equipment in any case…” she mused aloud as she shifted her bum in the hard chair, trying to get comfortable.

The Doctor blushed deep red, turning his head and scratching his neck. “Er, yes, we could, um, do that, but we can also find somewhere in the future to do it, you’d probably, er, like a lady doctor to do that stuff anyway…”

Rose’s blush matched the Doctor’s and Jackie watched them with amusement. 

“Right, I’ll get dinner started. I bought kale!”

The Doctor’s face lit up as Rose’s dropped.


	17. Chapter 17

"Try and keep me out!" the Doctor laughs and follows Rose through the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The nurse hands her a blue tie-front hospital gown and leaves the examination room, noting that she'll give her a few minutes to change before coming back. 

"There's nothing to worry about, right?" she asks as she unbuttons her jeans. The Doctor reclines back on the examination table, propping his legs' overflow up on the counter, and closes his eyes contentedly.

"None whatsoever. The TARDIS scans you constantly for life-threatening conditions and diseases, the baby too. She would have alerted us if there were anything wrong. This is a precaution more than anything and so we can check out obstetricians for the birth. Nothing but the best for my two favourite beings." 

"Good point. I'll give this clinic points for running on time and the receptionist being so sweet, but I'm docking quite a few for the lack of décor. Who wants to stare at a blank white wall?" She pulls her (his) white vest top off and slips into the thin gown, tying the side closed and slipping off her flip-flops. "I'm dressed."

He opens his eyes and a slow smile spreads across his face as his eyes dart directly over to her. "So you are."

The nurse knocks lightly and sticks her head inside. "Ready? Let's go weigh you and then we'll need a urine sample."

Rose shot a quick grin over at the Doctor with that tempting tongue between her teeth. " _This_ I can do by myself, yeah?"

He pretends to pout but it's difficult given the smile that refuses to fade off his lips. Truthfully, his legs _are_ itchy to follow her, his fingers twitching to feel her skin, but he lays back again with his hands behind his head. 

"We're throwing away every scale on the TARDIS," she notes under her breath when she returns. 

"How much?"

"Half a stone and change."

"That's all?" 

She glares and crosses her arms. 

"I only mean that ten pounds is closer to the norm, not that you _look_ like you've gained more," he clarifies hastily. She harrumphs but a smile re-emerges. 

They both startle as the door slams open and a tall brawny doctor wearing a leather jacket instead of a lab coat glides inside. "Pleasure to meet you, yada yada, let's have a look at this baby, eh?" With no further social graces, he shoos the Doctor off the table and lifts Rose up by her hips and deposits her on top. "Running late today, so let's get a move on."

She glances sidelong at the Doctor and he swallows and nods as reassuringly as he can muster. Without warning the lowercase doctor spreads her bent knees and pulls them into the stirrups, turning a crank to force them further apart. The Time Lord watches with wide eyes as the obstetrician's hand disappears between her legs and she gasps.

"Oh! Your fingers are…surprisingly warm," she squeaks. 

"Everything looks good down here," the doctor announces after a brief second and leans over to wheel a large contraption over to her side. It's only a flick of his finger before her gown is untied around her waist and blue gel is being squirted on her distended abdomen. Her breasts are exposed; the Time Lord quickly averts his eyes. 

"Congratulations on your boy," the formidable doctor states matter-of-factly, quickly moving the apparatus to another location and punching a button on the monitor. "Two legs, two arms, nine—no, ten—fingers, ten toes. Lungs healthy, heart looks good. Your picture is being printed. Any concerns before I go?"

They both gape at the doctor. "Um, what about the genetic screening?" Rose asks in a timid voice. 

"The nurse will be back in a moment to take some blood. Good luck with the rest of your pregnancy, we'll see you soon. Take your prenatal vitamins." The nameless doctor nods as if in agreement with his own words and strides out the door. 

The latch has barely clicked when another noise draws their attention, a sort of air warping and whistling noise. 

"Jack???" Rose gasps as the Captain materialises and brushes off his jacket. The Doctor stares, open-mouthed.

"Surprise! You told me this was the big reveal, Rose, I've been waiting years for the opportunity to actually do it." Jack notices the Doctor and grins. "Haven't seen you in years, Doc!"

Jack's met with shell-shocked silence and he widens his lazy smile. "Man, when I imagined this moment, I pictured a lot more enthusiasm. Balloons maybe, excited jumping at least."

"What are you doing here?" the Doctor finally snaps as Rose hurriedly draws her gown together. "Get out!"

"The baby. He's mine. That day on the beach, me and Rose…well, let’s just say the cocktail's famous for a good reason."

Rose clutches her belly and stared at the human man. "What?"

"Oh, he's wonderful, Rose, just you wait. Just like his daddy. We have a great life, the three of us, you'll love it. No running from danger at every turn, house in the suburbs, baking and quilting… You love it. Sorry, Doctor. It's just the way it was always meant to be. Jack and Rose and baby Jack, Jr." 

And with that, the Doctor's most recent and most bitter enemy leans over and smashes his lips into hers, lowering one hand to her hips, one hand cupping her—

\---

"Doctor?" She shook him harder when he only tensed up further, his lips forming unintelligible words. "Doctor!" It must be another of his Time War dreams what with the extent to which he was shaking and the rigid grimacing of his facial muscles, his mouth open and noiselessly screaming. 

He snapped his eyes open and gazed at her in horror that quickly morphed into intense relief. 

"Rose! Rose, I…you…Jack…" he mumbled into her shoulder where he quickly buried his face, tightening his grip around her body.

"Jack?" she laughed in surprise, rubbing circles on his back. 

"He…" He shook his head and slowly inched himself away from the safety of her neck. His arms didn't slacken from around her. "Not important. Bad dream, that's all. Sorry."

"It's alright, you've saved me from enough nightmares; it's only fair. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Er, nothing to say, really… We were at tomorrow's prenatal checkup visit—remind me to double check that obstetrician's reviews, by the way—and Jack appeared."

She tensed up. "You seemed awfully upset for just Jack appearing… Oh, God, was there something wrong with the baby? Because dreams—"

"Even in my dreams there was nothing wrong with our baby," he reassured her, leaning down to kiss the hair above her right temple. "And there won't be tomorrow either. The TARDIS scans you: the baby, too. She'd let me know if anything were unusual."

"I know… Doesn't mean I don't worry about it, though."

He stroked her cheek. "That's only natural. A mother _should_ be concerned about these things.”

She puffed out a breath of air and leaned forward to touch her forehead to his. "Mother. That's a really…weighty word."

"It's one of the most important words in any language. And you're already a magnificent prototype, Rose Tyler."

Wrapping her arms around her back and snaking her legs between his, she sighed contentedly and snuggled into his chest. "I love it when you say my full name. Does that make us Dr. and Mrs. Tyler, then?"

"I like the sound of that," he agreed and happily wriggled his legs against hers. 

When her stomach grumbled loud enough to disturb their warm cocoon, she groaned and the Doctor chuckled, reluctantly releasing her from his arms and shifting to sit up. "What do you fancy for breakfast, then? Fruit smoothie?"

"Are you going to sneak spinach and beets in there again?"

"Absolutely." He walked over to her side of the bed and helped her up. "You said it was the best thing you'd ever drank," he pouted jokingly, "are you going back on that statement?"

"No, but for the record, I actually said it was the most delicious thing I'd ever put past my lips and you blushed and started rattling on about the physiology of the tongue." 

He blushed profusely.

"Just like that, in fact," she teased, wrapping an arm around his waist as they meandered toward the galley. "But yeah, it was pretty tasty. If you wouldn't have bragged about your vegetable hiding prowess I wouldn't have known."

"Yes, well. I wanted you to be aware of how impressive I was."

She bumped his arm and nuzzled her chin into his shoulder. "I never forget _that_ , Doctor." 

"Quite right, too." 

\---

Rose was relatively certain that the woman was going to murder them. Smack them upside the head and push them out of her car into the ditch when they got back inside. Cackle hysterically as she slammed the door closed over their knuckles.

Well, the Doctor's knuckles, at least.

"Something about it isn't quite right, seems a little cramped," he announced the moment they stepped into the 15,000 square foot red brick mansion set on 2.3 acres of land and featuring a swimming pool, a home theatre, a south facing garden, and seven ensuite bedrooms.

The estate agent gritted her teeth and nodded. "Okay. Why don't you tell me what you object to and I'll peruse through my list of properties. Again."

"For starts, why is there only one swimming pool? What if we have guests? What if we have a multi-pool party?"

"A multi-pool party?" Rose asked under her breath with a bit-back smile. "What would that entail?" 

"Probably dyeing the water different colours. And maybe a treasure hunt. I don't know! But I don't want to limit ourselves to just a single-pool party; what would the neighbours think?"

"I agree, I'm glad you're thinking of these things," she whispered back between giggles, jostling into his arm.

"Duly noted," the tired state agent muttered. "At least two pools. Anything else?" she asked with a sigh, her stylus poised over her tablet.

"A banana grove," the Doctor noted, holding up his fingers and counting them off in turn, "more bedrooms, at least a dozen; a creek and, ooh, a lake; a dumbwaiter."

"Dumbwaiter…" The estate agent dully typed it into her database. "I'm not sure we have any properties that match all those requirements. And the climate in Surrey isn't quite right for a banana grove, I'm afraid… But there's an estate that just came on the market: no banana groves but there is an indoor _and_ an outdoor pool, plus hot tub, so that's technically three pools, not sure about the dumbwaiter situation… It's out of the way, though, set in the middle of an medieval hunting forest preserved by the National Trust, with —”

"We'll take it!" he interrupted, an expression of manic glee dancing across his face. 

"Doctor!" Rose hissed, pulling him aside but speaking in a stage-whisper. "We should probably at least see it first. What if there's no room for our award-winning lawn gnome collection?" 

Her eyes were twinkling so brightly that he wanted to swallow them whole. If this was the domestic life with her, he only regretted not starting it earlier.

"This is why I keep you around, Mrs. Tyler. Logical and practical at all times."

She snorted. He moved to stand behind her, encircling his arms around her and blissfully settling his hands on the proof of life, new life, new starts. 

The estate agent quickly found something that had to be checked up on _immediately_ in the kitchen.

“You want multiple pools, don’t you, baby boy? Oh, Rose, he kicked at that! How many pools? Kick one time for each one you want.”

“We might need to start thinking about names. Baby Boy is going to be awkward in sixth form.” She leaned her head back onto his chest.

“I disagree. He could be the Baby, and then when people describe us, they’d say ‘Oh, there’s the Doctor, Rose, and the Baby’. A family of nouns! And we could change it with age. Come here, Toddler; _allons-y_ , Prepubescent!”

Rose chuckled as she turned in his arms to face him: he didn’t let go of her. “How about we do that _and_ give him a conventional name too. Just in case he ever needs to run for office or something… Or you know, if the Adult doesn’t like his title…”

“When he’s an adult he can pick his own title. But until then, sure: I guess a human name would be a good backup.” He replaced his hands back on her stomach. “Rowlf? Beaker? Fozzie? What do you think, little one?”

“Doctor, are you just naming characters from The Muppet Movie?”

“Muppet! It’s like moppet but cooler…”

“Jonathan?” 

The Doctor shuddered. “Too boring. Might as well call him John Smith.”

“Edward?”

“Nah, reminds me of Edward II. Lovely guy. Nasty end, poor chap: red hot poker up his—”

“NOT Edward then. How about Elliot?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I met George Elliot? Mary Ann Evans, actually. She may have kissed me.” He smirked down at Rose with dancing eyebrows and she rolled her eyes.

“Definitely not Elliot. Jackson?”

The look of horror on the Doctor’s face made her step back from his arms and scan the room for alien threats. “What do you have against Jackson?”

“Er, nothing. Just…it reminds me of your mother.”

“Ooh, I didn’t even make that connection. And Jack, too! Maybe we _should_ name him after someone in the family.”

He swallowed, his eyes darting around the room, looking hopefully for an alien threat. “That’s a thought,” he said slowly, “but think of this. He’s a brand new being, the most magnificent creature Earth will ever see. There’s never been another like him, and no one will ever surpass him: I can tell already. Shouldn’t he have a name as unique as he is?”

She was quiet for a moment and then tears welled up and overflowed down her cheeks. “Doctor…”

Bowing his head down to reach her face, he kissed dry her tears. And then he kissed her forehead. And then quickly on the lips (just for good measure). When she buried her face in his coat he drew her closer and rubbed her back in small circles.

“ _Ahem_ ” They both startled at the estate agent clearing her throat. They turned their heads toward the sound but remained tightly wrapped up in each other. “I’ve made us an appointment to see the place, shall we get going?”

“What place?” the Doctor asked, slightly dazed and perplexed. All he could think about was the way her heart beat against his chest.

“The estate in the forest? Three pools, possible dumbwaiter?” She looked ready to kill.

“Yes! The ensconced arboreal manor house: lead on!”

“Okay,” the tired woman sighed, “right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, it’s only a twenty minute drive.”

“ _Dr._ and Mrs. Tyler,” Rose corrected and the Doctor grabbed her hand and grinned.

\---

The Doctor scrunched his nose. “It’s quite…stuffy…”

“I think it’s _gorgeous_ ,” Rose enthused, letting go of his hand to wander into the dense foliage. “Look at this garden! And all these trees…”

“I like the trees,” the Doctor mused as he followed her at a brisk pace and re-captured her hand, “it’s the house I don’t care for. It’s pretentious and quite frankly grim. All that stone and thick-paned glass…”

“I know you want space, but imagine cleaning that monster. And we’re not hiring help!”

“Absolutely not.” The Doctor smiled down at her fondly and brushed a windswept strand of her behind her ear. 

The estate agent threw her hands up in the air and stalked a few steps away.

“Poor thing,” Rose whispered to the Doctor. “We’re probably not the easiest clients she’s ever had…”

“Well, if she’d just listen to what we want—wait, what’s that over there?” He pointed to a building a few hundred metres away, barely perceptible in the tree-canopied clearing. 

“I don’t know, it’s probably—“ He interrupted her by tugging at her hand and dragging her into a sprint. 

It was a medium-sized cottage, older stonework than the manor itself but obviously recently restored. The door was locked but it only took a quick touch of the sonic before the Doctor was turning the knob and pushing open the heavy wooden door.

“This.”  
“I want this one.”

They spoke simultaneously, even before either had stepped foot inside. The décor was warm and cozy, with a large fireplace immediately catching the eye upon entering. There was an open-plan kitchen off to the side and a pair of overstuffed couches and ottomans set in a L-shape to the left. Three doors just beyond the lounge section assumingly led to a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. 

“Moira!” the Doctor hollered as Rose ran inside and ran her fingers along the wooden paneling and deep windowsills. 

The estate agent trudged over to the cottage. “Yes, I see you’ve found the—”

“Is this for sale?”

“Er, on its own? No…it’s part of the estate. Just an old gamekeeper’s hut, I believe it was refurb—”

“We’ll take the whole estate then, ta. Send the papers to my lawyer, we’ll agree to the asking price."

“But—” The woman had gone from being frustrated to being gobsmacked in a single second. Basically like anyone around the Doctor. 

“Doctor…” Rose prompted as she walked over to check behind the doors. 

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Moira. You’ve been very helpful. Add a hefty commission for yourself, too.” He shook her hand vigorously and bounded after Rose. “Tell me there’s a four poster bed!” he called out gleefully.

“Yup! And look, this room adjoins the other one. Perfect for a nursery.” She rubbed his jacket arm elatedly, bouncing up and down on her toes. He clasped his arm around her waist, hand spread out across her belly. The sounds of Moira picking up her dropped papers and dialing her head office drifted in through the open door. 

“Brilliant! Although he’s clearly sleeping with us for the first few months. Co-sleeping: the universally recognised best way to reduce cortisol levels and promote self-regulation, attachment, and peaceful sleep. Especially when his father can monitor his physiological patterns even while sleeping, as long as I’m touching him.”

“I don’t know…it seems kind of dangerous… What if we roll over onto him?”

“Have I ever rolled over onto you?" He cleared his throat. "Er, I mean, you’re better at being aware while you sleep than you might think. Besides, he’ll be eating every couple of hours; not really enough time to fall into a deep sleep. Even if I wasn’t able to monitor him while other parts of my mind rest and the fact that I actually only need to sleep once in awhile, it’s still one of the safest ways for him to sleep. I researched it the other night, just to be sure” 

“Wait, you sleep with..er…you sleep every night. I hear you snoring!” She narrowed her eyebrows at him but there was a gleam in her eyes.

“I most certainly do not snore, Rose Tyler!”

“You do…” she teased in a sing-song voice, “can’t deny it!”

“I’ll deny it until you provide proof. And even then, I’d suspect forgery. But back to your original question, I don’t _need_ to sleep but I can make myself do so.”

“Oh.” Her joviality fell flat and she bit her lip. “Sorry. You don’t have to—”

“It’s my favourite part of the day.” He swept his hands down her arms and interlaced his fingers with hers. 

“Oh.” She tried to bite back her smile but failed. “Then I guess I’m glad I get those nightmares.”

He watched their hands swing back and forth in the air and swallowed after a moment. “Rose…”

“I know. Listen, I wouldn’t change anything. I mean, I could have done without all the angst and worries at first, and the…DNA contributor and everything, but I’m really glad I’m— _we’re_ having this baby, Doctor.”

Locking both hands together above the gentle swelling, he held her like she was all that was anchoring him from floating away into time and space. "Me too. I would change the circumstances but never the results. And I've never been happier than right now, with you."

She cried for the sixth time that hour.


	18. Chapter 18

After a quick stop to the Doctor's lawyer, an older man who widened his eyes at their arrival once the Doctor produced his credentials (without even using the psychic paper) but quickly leapt into drawing up papers and accessing ancient bank accounts, they strolled back to where the TARDIS was docked in a nearby park. An observer would have unconsciously smiled at they way they held hands and tapped each other's arms and bumped into one another every few seconds, chattering away a mile a minute and pointing out objects in their path, but in their hyper-focused vision, they saw no one but each other. 

Once inside, the Doctor kept hold of her hand as he danced around the console flicking switches and pulling the necessary levers to launch them back into the vortex. 

"I'm starving," Rose groaned once he was finished. "I know we just ate lunch, like, two hours ago, but it feels like twelve."

"What do you want? Anything."

"We just got back, it's okay: I'll forage for something in the galley. Besides, I'm too exhausted to leave again."

"Tell you what: why don't you go change into your jimjams and find a movie for us to watch. I'll pick you up whatever you want."

"Yeah? I should argue but honestly that sounds heavenly…" She squeezed his hand. "You're so sw—you're the best."

"Too right. Remember that next time you wake yourself up by kicking me and then blaming my long—long and manly hairy—legs."

She laughed. "Deal. Fish and chips?"

"Nice try. Fish tacos from Santa Barbara?"

"Breaded fish tacos?"

"Fine…" he sighed with a smile, "but you have to eat all the avocado. And I'm asking for extra salsa verde."

She rammed her shoulders into his and shot him a broad grin before letting go of his hand and making way for her room. "Such a tragedy. See you soon, thanks, Doctor!" 

It was only a few minutes before he returned but she was already snuggling up in her flannel pajamas on the media room couch, her legs and arms wrapped around a long c-shaped body pillow as she reclined on her side. 

He glared at the pillow as he plated her tacos and handed her a fork and a napkin. "Where did that come from?"

Sitting up, she stroked the ultrasoft jersey pillowcase. "The pillow? It was here when I walked in: I think the TARDIS is being thoughtful again. It's lovely, she must have known my back was hurting…"

"Unnecessary, that's what it is. You have a perfectly good Time Lord to snuggle with, that pillow is demeaning." He pouted his lower lip. She wanted to bite it.

"Well come here so I can wrap my legs around _you_ then. " Sticking her tongue out of the corner of her lips was usually an unconscious action but not this time.

Just as she'd hoped, he blushed and started bumbling nonsense about spinal positioning and lumbar support. She started in on the tacos, finishing them both as well as the tortilla chips and guacamole before finally interrupting him. 

"…and there are other exercises you should consider too, Rose. Kegel exercises, for example, reduce the chance of tearing and—"

"Let's turn on a movie, yeah? Wait. Were you just talking about _kegels_?"

"Er, yes." The flush spread across his face again. "Strengthening those muscles, um, increasing circulation, they…" He censored himself finally at the look on her face. "Yes, well, I'll find a book on it for you."

"No need, I'm sure you can describe the exercise to me brilliantly. We can add it to our yoga routine," she said with as straight of a face as she could manage.

"Um, yes, I could…" His eyes darted around the room but found no safe harbor, finally settling on his feet. "It's…well, you squeeze your, um, pelvic floor muscles and then relax, um, and repeat for—"

"Which ones are the pelvic floor muscles?" Luckily he was still looking down so he couldn't see the way were lips were struggling not to twist into a smirk.

He emitted a sound that sounded suspiciously like a squeak. "I can, um, draw you a diagram?"

She finally let him off the hook, collapsing into giggles. "I know what they are, only messing with ya… I love you, you daft alien. Now come here and be my pillow."

He shifted on the balls of his feet for a few seconds before a shy smile slowly spread across his face. Kicking off his trainers and unbuttoning his jacket, he carefully stepped over her once more reclining form and settled himself behind her back. An arm under her head and his leg wedged in between hers and he was better than any pillow could ever feel. Almost.

She wiggled back into him and clasped hos other arm to her chest. "Alright, you win. Although there's nothing supporting my stomach anymore."

He reached over and grabbed a throw pillow, inserting it gently under her bump. "Better?"

"Perfect."

The Muppet Movie started playing. She turned her neck to raise her eyebrows at him. He waggled his own. "There might be other name possibilities I've forgotten about. Research."

She rolled her eyes but kissed his cheek before turning back to the screen. 

\---

At some point during the movie, she fell asleep in his snug arms and dreamt of star-crusted bedroom murals in their new cottage. As her dream-self moved toward the painted cobalt sky she took one step too many and fell into the airless universe, suspended weightlessly as supernovas exploded around her and stellar nurseries expanded across the firmament. A hand gripped hers, too tiny and fragile to be the Doctor's, and led her through the celestial bodies until they arrived at a cluster set aside from the rest. They descended deep into the swirling galaxy, soaring and pluming down to a red planet circling two suns. 

She awoke to the feeling of fluttering butterfly wings in the part of her mind closest to the bridge of her nose and she snapped open her eyes. The sensation stopped when she jerked her head away from where the Doctor's hand had drifted up from her cheek to her temple. 

"Doctor?" She squirmed around in his tight grip to see he too had fallen asleep but was slowly waking now. A lazy smile arose on his face when he blinked open his eyes to see her watching him. 

"Morning," he drawled around a large yawn.

"Think it's afternoon," she corrected, smiling. "Were you…were you just in my mind? I felt something flitter across my brain, like the rapid blinking of an eye or a racing heartbeat, or…"

His eyes became wider than she'd ever seen and he snatched his hand out from under her head like it was on fire, moving back and hovering indecisively when her head dropped to the couch, but eventually clenching into a fist.

Horrified, he began erecting extra barriers and safeguards around his telepathic circuitry. "I…I must have done it while I was asleep…it's never happened before. I'm so sorry: I didn't mean to, but it's inexcusable nonetheless. If you only felt fluttering it means I didn't actually get inside, but it doesn't matter, I was knocking, I… I'm so sorry…I'll make sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was pleading and frantic. 

Another layer of protective wall was added and then another to be on the safe side. Attempting to connect with another person without their express permission was the ultimate taboo, the highest indiscretion possible; it really _had_ never happened before, he didn't even think it was possible while asleep. But the proof was indisputable in his mind; he could feel the strengthening neural connections and potentiated tactile NDMA receptors. 

"Doctor, it's okay," she said softly, "I don't mind. Actually, um, I don't know what you usually do with telepathy, but…I wouldn't mind you being in my head. I trust you. And…I don't know if I'm saying this right, but the idea of connecting at that additional level…it sounds kind of nice. I don't know, is it?"

She shattered his new defenses to dust just as she'd destroyed the Daleks after she'd looked into the heart of the TARDIS. _You are tiny_. 

Still, he had to make sure she understood. "It's rhapsody," he choked out hoarsely. "But Rose, you have to know what you're offering. I've been in your head before but only at the physiological level. To touch your mind, your thoughts, your liquid consciousness… It's rapturous but it's also fearful: it's flinging your head back and baring your throat for slaughter; it's sanctioning an absolute loss of control; it's tearing away the veil of individuality and merging with the undiluted soul of another."

She moved her hand to settle between his racing hearts and closed her eyes. "If your description is that beautiful… I’d like to…if you want, that is. Doesn’t have to be now but…anything of mine is yours, Doctor."

"Rose…"

Her eyes opened again and caught his unblinking eyes. "Anything," she repeated. 

"Now is…good," he forced out of his closing throat. "If there's anything you don't want me to see—"

"There won't be."

His lungs begin to move again but his breath is shaky. There's pin drop silence as he lifts his fingers to her skull so slowly it feels like they'll never reach their destination, as if the distance will keep halving _ad infinitum_ and approach zero without ever meeting her skin. 

But they do. They do and he flickers into her mind like a candle's shadow against a wall except that she's the flame and he's a phoenix, gasping to immolate himself in her being, to burn in her blaze and drown in her golden tincture. He pours himself into her outstretched chalice and drinks from her overflowing grail and carves out his hearts with a dull dinner knife and lays it at his goddesses' bare feet and he blinds himself and he deafens himself until he can only feel and he's swept away in the gusts of her thunderstorm until he's only particles drifting in her wind. 

He feels her love, he feels his love gush out through a crumbling dam, he feels her scalding and soothing warmth, he feels the way his arms feel around her, he feels how her fingers brush along his thumb set his nerves singing, he feels—

He feels something else. 

It's the faintest of breezes across his face like the wings of a bird unfurling in the endless sky, its shape silhouetted against silver tree leaves dancing with flecks of orange. It's scarlet and gold; it's singing and silence; it's infinite and it smells of time and it's drumming in a 2:1 time signature.

It's knocking almost imperceptibly at his mind, a mind within a mind, and he turns the lock and he slides the chain and he throws open the door and he gapes. 

Pulling back his fingers he became himself once more and gathered the crux and fulfillment of all his dreams up into his arms and ran for the console room.


	19. Chapter 19

_Pulling back his fingers he became himself once more and gathered the crux and fulfillment of all his dreams up into his arms and ran for the console room._

He gently lowered Rose to the jump seat and turned to walk over to the console but had to stop and return his gaze to the pregnant goddess crinkling her forehead at him, still dazed from their telepathic connection and staring at the Time Lord like he was crazy. 

Perhaps he was. 

She captured his hand and tugged him closer. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head with what he was sure was a dopey beam on his face but he didn't say anything, didn't even bother attempting to open his mouth. All the words in the universe, all their infinite combinations and permutations weren't enough to describe what he was feeling and he wouldn't dare lessen them. 

So instead he drew himself closer to their grand beginning and their explosive finish line, where light and space and time and truth were limitless and where every star fit in the palm of her hand and glowed through its translucent skin. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he knelt in front of Rose and placed on hand on each of her knees. 

"Doctor?" Her eyebrows furrowed again.

He responded through her lips, a slow and tender kiss that quickly blossomed into a fervent prayer sequestered in the cloisters of their mouths. It took her brain a second to enumerate and assimilate his actions but her lips answered instantaneously, dancing between his and tilting to allow for better access. When her mind caught on he felt her smile stretch across his lips and he darted his tongue out to taste her sunshine and affirmation. 

His hands slid up her legs to grasp her hips, pulling her warm body closer (never close enough). One remained at the small of her back and the other scuttled up her spine to tangle in the curls at the nape of her neck. 

Rose's arms were passive and unmoving at her sides at first but as the fog of incredulity dissipated into a lucent haze of need ( _need for more, need for his skin, need for…just need, a need for need for need…_ ) she dug her nails into the ungiving vinyl of the seat. As his fingers swept up her back, she finally capitulated to the imperative to touch, to feel the pressure of his body shoot up along her proprioceptive receptors and bathe her brain in the sensation, and she gripped his torso so tightly her fingertips almost tore a hole in his oxford and fell into his skin. 

Only a few seconds passed before he abruptly pulled back however, panting as he watched her with a look of increasing horror dawning across his face. 

She didn't let go. 

"Really? Again?" she asked incredulously. "I'm going to get a complex if you keep doing that after we kiss…"

His face relaxed infinitesimally and he dropped his forehead to rest against hers. She could feel his heavy breaths against her face. 

"No, no…" he murmured quietly, "I'm not backing down from that kiss, that…I want to do more of that." He tilted his head to kiss her again, a quick brush of his lips against hers that was anything but chaste. 

She sat back in the jump seat to regard the certifiable alien still kneeling in front of her, his eyes on her but his head a million light years away. 

"Then what?"

"I…" His eyes flickered down to her abdomen and then back up to her face. "I'm not sure…the timelines are rampaging around you, around the baby… they're in flux, like they're poised to jump but faltering, like time is layered atop itself… And I felt…" 

The Doctor swallowed and reached down to lace his fingers through hers. "Earlier, you said you wouldn't change anything, anything except the circumstances of his conception. If…if I could change it…if everything could be the same except…that…would you want that?"

"Want what? You're worrying me, Doctor… is the baby okay? Did you see something in my brain about him when we were linked?"

"He's magnificent. And he's…" The Doctor paused, glancing over at the console screen and then back at Rose. "I think it's already happened and still hasn't happened yet and…"

"What? Just tell me, stop babbling nonsense." She was getting frustrated and backed away from him as far as she could without leaving the seat. 

He sighed and dropped his hand from hers and went over to the console and began drawing rapid circles on the tactile interface. "That day, in Honolulu… Something… Oh, god, what did I do? Or maybe… But it couldn't…" He squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep, rasping breath. "I need to know exactly what happened."

"We know what happened, we—"

"No, we think we know what happened," he interrupted and then began muttering to himself as he scrolled through unreadable information screens on the display. Resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to tell her anything of use in his current state, she crossed her arms across her stomach and curled her legs up along the bench. 

After a few minutes of intense glares at whatever he was reading and harried taps at the interface, he jumped and exclaimed loudly. "Gotcha!"

A video of some sort whirled to life on the monitor but she couldn't figure out what it was showing since the Doctor was fast-forwarding it. She stood up and moved closer. When he eventually hit 'play,' a heavy-looking steel door appeared on the screen.

"There's no interior footage, this is just a CCTV camera of the exterior part of the building," he explained when she squinted at the screen and looked at him with confusion. "I knew there was probably something like this, but I didn't think it would be helpful since we can't see what's going on inside, but—a-ha, there you are!"

Two men appeared on screen, dragging a clearly unconscious Rose between themselves as if she were simply drunk and they were taking her home. One swiped a card across a discrete black box to the side of the door and they together pulled her forward into the building.

Rose bit her lip and looked away from the console. Having no memories of that day had quickly evolved into being a blessing once she learned she was pregnant and this was threatening to shatter some of that blissful ignorance. "Doctor, I don't see what—"

Without disengaging his eyes from the screen, he reached his arm back and took her hand, rubbing soothing shapes along her palm. "Sorry, I know you don't want to see this, but just wait.” He fast-forwarded the tape. “If I'm right…yep, here I am. Only about 15 minutes behind you."

The Doctor appeared on screen, his eyes wild and frantic. He pointed his sonic screwdriver at the doorway but it didn’t yield and the frustration was evident on his face. He slammed his fists into the steel door, pounding rapidly until the door eventually cracked open. All they could see on tape was a hand grabbing the Doctor’s, still rapping furiously against the door, and dragging him inside.

"Illuminating," Rose commented dryly once the door was closed and they were once again staring at the door. She looked over at the Doctor, wondering if she needed to shake him or something since he was still studying the feed with fanatical intensity, when all at once he went so pale that his freckles stood out dark and stark against his cheeks. 

"Doct—" She glanced over and saw what he was reacting to on the video footage. 

On screen, the Doctor again walked to the door, a calmer look in his eyes this time, although the determination was equivocal. He was clutching a large bundle of something that looked like string or twine in one arm and with the other he flashed the sonic at the door lock and it swung open without delay. 

"But…" 

He blinked at the screen a few times. The video-Doctor suddenly looked straight into the camera and pointed meaningfully; watching the feed in the TARDIS, it seemed that he was directing his finger straight at them.

"It's me…this me, current present right-now me…" His voice was so quiet she could barely understand him.

"What do you mean? And how do you know?"

He cleared his throat and turned to face her. "Look. Same tie, my jacket's off… Just like now. And I indicated to the camera. I…I have to go; I have to go do that. It's a circular paradox of some sort, I have to complete the loop…"

Rose chewed on the side of her thumbnail. "There were two… _yous_ there? That day?"

"Must have been…" he muttered as he flipped a switch and spun a dial on the console. The ship shook under their feet and he instantly hooked his arm around her waist to keep her steady. Another whack of a black rubber-like button and the TARDIS landed with a shudder. 

He turned to face her once the tremors ceased. “Rose… You can’t—”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “You think I learned nothing from 1987 and the reapers? I know I have to stay here. But…what about you? There’s two of you there…”

The Doctor released the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding and his jaw relaxed slightly. “I’m a Time Lord, this kind of thing’s inevitable. We’re mostly immune from multiple-selves paradoxes. I’ll be fine. But…please, promise me you’ll stay here. No matter how long it takes.”

She bit her lip but nodded. “Suppose it can’t take you more than an hour, in any case. Since you, this you, wasn’t there when we first started remembering things.”

“Yep,” he popped, trying to exude more confidence than he was feeling. Time could still be re-written, after all. And he still had no clue what would go down in that sterile white warehouse. He let his hands drift down to where he could just about make out the baby kicking against his hip. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

Rose smiled weakly as he caressed her stomach but it soon fell into a frown and a biting of her cheek. “Are you…is there a possibility that you might change things? That all this might have never been? I…” she swallowed and looked away, blinking furiously against the tears that threatened to burst the dam of her eyelids, “I don’t want to change anything. I’m really happy, right here, right now. Are you sure you have to go?”

His hands left the baby and trailed up her back, drawing her close. “I think things have already changed. Or rather, they’re exactly as they are now, they were always changed. And it’s good, it’s brilliant, it’s more than I ever… But I have to actually make that…alteration or we risk everything we have right now. It’s _not_ going that might lead to this timeline never existing.”

She nodded against his chest and hugged him tightly. “Okay. Go then. Make sure we can keep this.”

He pulled back reluctantly and saluted her with a cheeky smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

She frowned. “You’re worried about something though. What?”

“I…I’ll tell you everything when I’m back, but…I’m not sure if I trust myself to be rational and level-headed in there… What if I lose it and ruin everything? I don’t know what I’ll find, what I’ll see… You…”

She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You’ll do what you need to do. I know you will.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. She groped for his hand and bright it to rest just above her bellybutton. “You’ll be able to do it for him. Our son, yeah? I know you’ll be able to do anything you need to do in order to protect him.” 

His other hand joined the first on the baby bump and although she had to go crossed-eyed to see it, she saw him close his eyes. His breathing evened out. 

“And…whatever did, _is_ happening in there,” she continued, “you have my permission to do whatever needs to be done to keep him safe. Even if that’s just…standing back and closing your eyes.”

His eyes snapped open and he sucked in a raspy gasp of air. He stared at her for a long few seconds, his expression exuding internal conflict. “Rose, before I go, I just need to double check something, okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He disentangled himself and walked back over to the console, tapping a few times at the touchscreen and placing his sonic screwdriver in a dock she’d never noticed before. A few seconds later, he detached it and returned to her side. As if the sonic were an ultrasound wand, he lightly rolled the tip along the circumference of her abdomen and then quickly along several diameters, making a wheel-spoke pattern with another small circle at the apex of the mound. 

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong with him?” she asked quietly when he was done and returning the sonic to the dock. 

“Positive.” On the screen, a picture slowly materialized, lines covering layers of lines until she could see a very clear, 3-dimensional snapshot of the baby. He was curled up in an uncomfortable looking position, his feet bent along his face and his eyes closed, and the scan was so clear and detailed it was like a photograph taken inside her womb. Smaller pictures were arranged around the main one, appearing to show his various body systems: one looked like an extremely high definition x-ray of his bones, another of his blood vessels. She moved closer to the screen to see them more closely but without medical training most of the internal scans were meaningless to her. The main one though, of his tranquil facial expression and clenched fists, was mesmerising. 

Beside her, the Doctor had stopped breathing. 

It took her a few minutes to notice. 

“He’s beautiful,” she finally whispered, reaching for his hand. When it hung limply in hers, she finally wrenched her eyes away from the screen to look at him. “Doctor?”

“Gorgeous,” he finally choked out and squeezed her hand. “I’m going to make sure you remain just as you are, little one.” 

And with one last kiss, a kiss of her hand, a kiss to her cheek, a kiss to her forehead, a kiss to her abdomen, he walked toward the door and flung it open. 

“What about that thing you were holding in the video? The string or something?” she called out just as he was about to step outside. 

“The string…Yes! The rope! Luciq rope, very important. I remember that from last time too, I wondered about it back then... Always with the right questions, Rose Tyler!” He ran back to the console, pulled open a piece of grating, and fished around inside until he found what he was looking for. 

He practically skipped back to the doorway, the rope in hand. 

“I love you. Both.”

“We love you,” she replied through a wide smile and he grinned and leapt out the door. 

\---

This time, as he aimed his sonic at the black security box beside the heavy steel door, he had no problem cracking the security code and the lock clicked open almost immediately. The sonic’s nearly infinite memory capacities and automatic code-breaking calculation as a subroutine in the software was rarely helpful due to the fact that he made a point to travel to new places rather than revisiting old ones, but he was grateful that he’d implemented the feature centuries ago. Sometime in his first body, actually…

He was about to barge inside when he remembered the video feed. Glancing around quickly, he found the CCTV camera and pointed at it to complete that particular portion of the paradox loop. Closing his eyes for only a split second, he steeled himself and slipped inside. 

If it was bright outside, in the midday Hawaii sun, it was even brighter inside and the stark white walls and harsh overhead lights made him grimace and squint. Once his eyes adjusted, he glanced around. It was entirely empty and silent, at least until he engaged his hyper-acute secondary auditory perception system and heard a slight scuffling noise through a doorway on his right. 

He moved toward the sound but it was with trepidation. Now that he’d acted through what had been evident on the video feed, he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do next, and even worse, no idea what he’d find when he located his younger self and Rose. Was he supposed to stay out of view, work behind the scenes, or had he interacted with them in some manner? Finally shrugging, he decided to behave and react as naturally as possible. 

Overthinking things could only be detrimental; he’d learnt that lesson well over the past few months. 

Pushing past the swinging door and peering around the corner, he watched surreptitiously as the two burly guards who haunted his nightmares shut and locked a door and then went into an adjacent room. Once he was sure the hall was empty, he snuck over to the first door and peered through the tiny frosted-glass window. 

It was no more than a closet, completely dark, but from the roaring vibrations reverberating across the metal door and the muffled yells, he was left with little doubt as to the occupant. 

“Doctor,” he whispered in a frequency that he knew only his own ultrasonic ears could pick up. The vibrations stopped for a second and then ratcheted up in strength. Rolling his eyes and switching to Gallifreyan, he spoke again in the same high-pitched tone. “Shut up,” he said contemptuously, “You know who this is. I’m here to help, but I’ll only unlock this door if you calm down.”

“Leave me, get Rose, they—” he finally heard in response and the pounding tapered away.

“I know,” he replied, “but this is some sort of circular paradox so I need more information from you before I can do anything. There are a lot of fixed points here and we can’t risk meddling with a single one. I’m going to open the door but you need to stay in there, I’ll come inside.”

He heard a growl at that but no other protest so he rapidly disengaged the locking mechanism and slipped inside, locking the door again before his other self could escape.

“Show me what you know and then I’ll fill you in.” The younger Doctor instantly raised his fingers to his older body’s temple, his hands shaking and his respiration rapid. Direct tactile proximity wasn’t strictly necessary for this type of telepathy but it made things clearer and more efficient. 

A stream of images and emotions flickered across his mind like a movie in fast-motion and although it was far, far less horrific than he’d dreaded, he still had to fling his younger body’s hand aside when it was finished and expel the contents of his stomach on the floor, adding to the mess his other self had created only minutes previously.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written from the viewpoint of the older/current Doctor for the most part; any references to 'The Doctor" or a vague "he" refer to him while other adjectives (e.g. younger, double, etc.) are used to denote the earlier/younger/other Doctor.

A stream of images and emotions flickered across his mind like a movie in fast-motion and although it was far, far less horrific than he’d dreaded, he still had to fling his younger body’s hand aside when it was finished and expel the contents of his stomach on the floor, adding to the mess his other self had created only minutes previously. 

_Rose._

_Rose, drugged and unconscious._

_Rose, drugged and unconscious and strapped to a medical table._

_Laughing men in business suits; glee at finding a purebred human, a human female without any clear attachments and travelling alone in the wrong time; genetic experiments with the new strain of extraterrestrial DNA hypothesised to result in savant-level intelligence and extreme muscular strength when cross-bred with human DNA._

_Gestation acceleration technology._

_Profit._

Once his abdominal muscles stopped rhythmically contracting and the contents of his stomach were fully expelled, the Doctor straightened his back and clenched his fists to stop sucker punching his younger self for letting this happen. They both might deserve it but it wasn't going to resolve anything. Time was of the essence right now; he could upbraid himself later. 

"We're too late," the younger Doctor muttered, guessing his double's thoughts and looking down at the floor, "they've already done it." He looked as if he would rather appreciate that blow to the gut from his older self; would happily do it to himself if it were possible. 

The Doctor's eyes widened at that piece of information and took a step back. In the tiny closet that meant smacking his back against the wall so hard he felt the wind knocking out of his lungs. "We can't be. That's not what happens, that's not how it's supposed to be…" 

"No shit," the younger Doctor spat out. His hands were fisted, too.

They glowered at each other for a few seconds before the older Doctor's eyes suddenly lit up in understanding. "No, wait. That's exactly what was supposed to happen. I think. Why else would I… It had to have been life or death, I, you would never…"

"What the fuck are you rambling about?" the other Doctor hissed, vehemence dripping from his voice. "It's S'toffam semen they've implanted in her. Impossible to abort. It'll almost certainly kill her within a month without their fucking growth acceleration, and with it…" He cut himself off and slammed his fist into the wall, adding a few forceful kicks for good measure. "Even if I manage to stabilize the growth factor in the TARDIS there's no way she'll survive the second stage of gestation—"

The older Doctor nodded, trying to inject calm into his features. It was a conflict of his heart and head at the moment: he knew the answer and what should happen but it didn't stop the terror. And regardless of his future knowledge, the time lines were on tenterhooks and so much depended on his counterpart's collected actions.

"Yes, yes, I know," he finally volleyed back when the white-hot rage receded slightly. "When it grafts the host's blood vessels to its own and redirects all the oxygen to its own body." The Doctor rocked back against his heels and eyed his younger self warily. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do? God, I hate myself sometimes."

"All the time."

"All the time," the younger Doctor agreed with a snarl. 

"So what are you going to do?" He had no problem discerning the glare from his counterpart in the dark.

There was silence for a long second before a deep sigh was emitted. "You know what we'll have to do."

"I have to say, I really don't. I'm fascinated to hear what _brilliant_ solution I came up back then. Tell me." His voice was light and slightly teasing; he knew it was infuriating his younger self.

"The only way to save her is to perform a full hysterectomy once we get out of here. And the sooner the better, before it develops past zygote form and latches onto her vascular system. It's a long shot, but it's the only chance she has…"

The older Doctor lost all semblance of his composed demeanour as he gaped at his younger self. His stomach rolled again and he swallowed back the increased saliva building in his mouth. "What? You can't do that! She'll never be able to have children; don't you _dare_ take that choice from her."

"What and let her die? She'll _die_ if I don't. She may still die and you're just standing there all smirking and cocky. Unlock this door, you complete ponce, and help me get her out of here!"

"I will _not_ allow you to do anything of the sort. I'll tie you up and take her back to _my_ TARDIS before I allow that to happen, paradoxes be damned." His younger self growled and the Doctor quickly took a step back. "Think carefully," he continued in a calmer tone, "there must be another way."

"There isn't and you know it. It's not like I'm happy about it either but her life is too important, we can't risk... Give me the sonic!" With that the younger Doctor lunged at the older with a ferocity and desperation that he would have been admired under different circumstances. But for all his determination to save Rose with any means necessary, he was no match for the Doctor who had lived the future and would protect it at all costs. 

Shoving him back, he surprised the other Doctor by darting forward and digging his fingers roughly into the man's temple. 

"Oww! What are you—" The overwrought younger Doctor fell into a stunned silence as a possible future flashed across his mind's eye.

_Rose._

_Rose lying next to him in bed, curled up in a white duvet and his own arms._

_Rose's hand interlaced with his as they stared up at the galaxies._

_"It's a boy."_

_"I want him." "I want him too."_

_The feeling of a diamond ring brushing against the pads of his fingers when he held her hand; the feeling of the baby kicking against his palm; the feeling of her lips against his._

_The sight of her abdomen's swelling under a white lacy vest top; the sight of her at a sink wearing a long ratty old t-shirt; the sight of curtains and carpet overlaid with sunlight and contentment._

_"Father."_

_"Our son."_

_"I would change the circumstances but never the results. And I've never been happier than right now, with you."_

The younger Doctor pushed his elder counterpart's hand away. "But she can't. It's impossible; there's no way she could survive that long." He was lightly panting and the word 'impossible' was intoned with intense longing.

"I was blind. You'll be blind." He lifted his fingers to the shaking man's face again. "Look again."

_The feeling of his internal walls crumbling down; the feeling of her skin under his fingers; the feeling of being filled to the brim, of being complete; the feeling of merging two souls into one body._

_Three souls._

_The sound of rapid heartbeats, drumming an ancient beat._

_The sight of a still-developing binary vascular system on the TARDIS monitor._

The younger Doctor dropped to his knees and clutched at his chest as if his hearts were trying to escape. "No…"

"Yes. Two hearts. He's ours. Yours." He swallowed hard against his closing throat; this information was still new and precious to him too. "But not yet. We need to make that future a reality and we need to do it quickly."

The man bent in supplication on his knees was breathing so quickly it was beginning to sound like hyperventilation. The Doctor crouched down and placed his hand above his heaving chest onto his neck, stimulating oxytocin production and thus modulating his younger self's rocketing cortisol and noradrenaline levels. This was why panic attacks were uncommon on Gallifrey and part of the reason they rampaged through his ninth body after the Time War: simple touch was often enough to control their progression. He'd had no one left and had made it worse with his self-imposed hermitage. 

Until Rose. 

Rose and the feeling of her hand in his. 

" _This_ is why I'm going to have to erase your memories when this is over," he realised aloud, watching his younger self's breathing gradually level out. "You're not ready, not for any of it. You'd run or hide or send her away for her own good. Admit it, you're already thinking about that."

"She deserves better than us, she wouldn't want this... We're broken and we'll break even more when we lose her. She's like lightning, she's already dead and has been dead longer than even we'll live and—"

"Oh, shut the _fuck_ up."

"But—"

"She makes us better, you know that. She may be lightning but she's summer lightning, the storm that snaps the oppressive heat and brings the rain. She's the lightning and she's the lightening. All the heaviness you carry around… You'll find out soon enough." He nudged the wild-eyed Time Lord and allowed just a smidge of compassion and reassurance to flow through his fingertips into the distraught man's neural pathways. "So get a grip on yourself and help me protect our son's timeline."

The younger Doctor blinked and his breath finally became steady. "But we can't. Literally can't: the safeguards and the genetic constraints…"

"You mean that reproduction is physiologically impossible without two Time Lords? One older? With political authority?" He watched himself with a raised eyebrow.

"Come off it. You don't have political power."

"Excuse me? You know perfectly well that there is no higher authority to speak for Gallifrey right now. And were we or were we not the 409th Lord President?"

He was met with a snort. "Ha! We were deposed before we could even take office."

"Still counts. And seriously, are we really going to sit here and argue? Obviously I'm going to be able to unlock your constraints, it's already been done in my timeline."

"They've already implanted the S'toffam semen in her: it's too late."

"Now you're being deliberately daft."

"Absolute seminal dominance over lower species is only an old myth, a story to teach the impressionable children at the Academy of our preeminence and species superiority."

"Myths are often based on some grain of truth."

The younger Doctor's face portrayed fearfully raw hope for only a split second before falling. "Even if it was possible, there's no way I would do that to her. She's not even awake to consent; she's twenty years old, she doesn't want—"

"She already has. Or will." He cupped his hands gently across the trembling man's face and closed his eyes. 

_Rose._

_(It was always Rose.)_

_Rose in flannel pajamas and the Doctor's white undershirt, sitting in the jump seat._

_The feeling of her forehead pressed against his; the feeling of her stomach's taut skin against his hand; the feeling of her eyelashes fluttering against his chest._

_"Make sure we can keep this.”_

_"I’m really happy, right here, right now"_

_"Whatever did, _is_ happening in there, you have my permission to do whatever needs to be done to keep him safe." _

His double snapped open his eyes. "She's pregnant…" he whispered in a choked voice.

"With our son. The next Time Lord. Everything you've wanted since meeting her, even before then… It's all in your reach. You see the timelines, don't you? Twisting and turning and ready to leap? Let them."

The younger Doctor tried to swallow and failed, wetting his lips and clenching and unclenching his fists a few times. He slowly nodded his head. The Doctor found himself mirroring the action subconsciously as a grin rose up his face. 

After a sacrosanct moment, the younger Doctor straightened his shoulders. "Well don't just stand there smiling like a fool. Open the door and let's get this baby cooking." He paused. "Strike that. I don't like that at all."

"Quite." The Doctor aimed the sonic at the door handle. "Allons-y!"

"Allons-y…I like that. Must remember that one…" The younger Doctor was still talking to himself under his breath they both froze. 

The two muscular guards were standing in front of the open door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and tapping their feet in unison. 

\---

"Well, that was just brilliant," the younger Doctor observed as they both felt along the walls of the tiny closet prison, looking for some structural vulnerability or hidden ventilation shaft.

"Your whinging isn't going to solve anything."

"We have to get out there! S'toffam spermatozoa is exceptionally rapid, it's probably already penetrated the ovum and is preparing to divide…" 

"Don't you think I _know_ that?"

"Apparently you know everything. So tell me, how do we get of here without our sonics? If it's already been done in your timeline?"

"Time can be re-written," the older Doctor muttered. 

"One the count of three, we'll knock down the door. One, t—"

A long sigh. "It's steel and about four inches thick, you moron."

"Fine." The younger Doctor slumped to the floor with a sulk, pulling a rusty old trowel out of his pocket and glumly pounding it against the plaster walls. The first layer crumbled under his ministrations, revealing a metal second layer; he hurled the tool to the grown in disgust. 

There was a silence and they could hear the distant muffled sounds of a woman shouting and medical equipment whirling to life in the room next to them. 

"Wait. Did you pick up Rose's phone when you left the beach? Because I definitely had it later, it never went missing."

"Um. I don't know," he murmured, rummaging through his pockets. "If it was in her bag, I might have—yes! Here it is!"

"I called the authorities, they thanked me when this was all over."

"Bully, but they'll take ages. We have minutes."

There was quiet again. "Okay, call them first and then I'll call Jack."

"Jack?"

"Yup. Met up with him recently. He's the only person I can think of who can get here instantly, what with his vortex manipulator…"

"Fine, let's do it."

After a quick phone call to the authorities, the younger Doctor handed over the phone. The Doctor quickly tapped in the number Jack had given them in Cardiff and tapped his fingers impatiently on the wall. Finally, on the third ring, a muffled grunt answered.

"Jack—"

"Who is this? Wait, I don't care: it's 3 o'clock in the bloody morning. Just tell me what you want in the next three seconds or you're out of luck. And this better not be 'Carl' again. Get over it; she made her choice."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Jack, listen closely: do you still have your vortex manipulator?" 

There was a loud rustling of sheets and a clearing of the throat across the line. "Doctor?"

"Got it in one. Now listen, this is life or death and it concerns Rose. I'm in…I'm where and when she got pregnant. And I need your help, I'm locked up and I can't get to her and—"

"Say no more, I'll get there somehow. The vortex manipulator is broken though, can you fix it remotely?"

The Doctor let out a groan of irritation and kicked the wall, shaking out his foot in pain after colliding with metal. "Let's hope so. Does it turn on?"

"It turns on but only to a blank screen. Displays the code 1729gh5adβ. It shorted out near the rift when I got stuck in 1869."

"Quickly, unscrew the back. Do you see the tangle of wires? You need to solder together the two yellow wires with the reddish-brown one; make a three way connection somehow. I know it doesn't look like they should go together but it's a temporary fix. And then reset it by holding down the power button for six seconds and then typing in 16.1.67.445.7866 into the coordinates as if that would be your destination. Got that?"

He heard the crinkle of paper and spared a grateful thought for the gravity Jack could show when called upon. "Got it. Shouldn't take me too long. Where are you?"

"4287.02.05.1346.12.86859221900.21.3069400.-157.8583306. Got that?"

"Yup. Hawaii, right?"

"Right. We're locked in the third door on the right after entering the building."

"You need any tools or weapons?"

"Nothing, they left our sonics on top of a file cabinet to the left of the door we're trapped behind, just—"

"Wait, we?" 

"My younger self and I. Now hurry up, the longer I talk to you the longer you're in our timeline and we need to get to Rose before—"

Without another word the line went dead and the Doctor exhaled a long sigh of relief. Whatever his (frankly petty) qualms with the former time agent and his lackadaisical approach to time travel and…other things, his calm and efficacy during crisis were irreproachable. And he'd do anything for Rose: at this point, she could use all the allies she could get. 

No sooner had the younger Doctor returned the phone to his pocket than they heard buzzing behind the door. 

"Psychic, right?" they heard Jack mutter and the lock clicked open. The two Doctors stumbled out and blinked into the harsh light. Raised eyebrows were all they got from Jack before he tossed them each a sonic. They glanced down and wordlessly switched with each other.

"Any paradoxes I have to worry about?" Jack was stood atop a struggling guard, gagged with his own sock, his eyes flickering between the two Time Lords. His long woolen jacket billowed in the breeze of the door slamming closed and all three men winced at the noise. 

After a second of pained silence, the three men let out a simultaneous breath. "Nope. I'm the one from your current time stream though, if you need to know. Here: unbreakable rope." The Doctor tossed Jack the ball of Luciq rope still in his trouser pocket. "Think you can stand guard while we get Rose?"

"Sure thing. As long as you fill me in on whatever the hell we're doing here once she's safe. How many are there?"

The Doctor shot Jack a grateful smile. "Yep. Um, I remember four people. It was you who tied them all up, I suspect. Could be more though. Thanks."

The younger Doctor was shuffling uncomfortably and trying to avoid Jack's eye, but he looked up now. "Jack…"

"Later. And it's already forgiven, Doc."

"Come on; on my count, we're going in. Ready?" The younger Doctor shook his head to rid himself of his disconcert at seeing the time agent again and nodded in agreement with his older self. 

"Ready." The both brandished their sonics, the younger Doctor quickly disengaging the metal door's lock, and together they barreled into the room where Rose was being held. 

This room was far larger than the tiny storage cupboard they'd been locked in and covered floor to ceiling with the most modern medical technology available at the time. The ceiling and walls were stark white and the majority of the equipment was stainless steel or white, giving the room an exceedingly austere and sterile ambiance. The lights were on full brightness but the room was empty and quiet save for a quiet rhythmic beeping and the sight of Rose Tyler strapped down to a tall gyneacological examination table, unconscious and covered in only a white medical-grade paper sheet.


	21. Chapter 21

Both Doctors were initially frozen in place, physically pained at the sight of Rose Tyler unconscious on a medical examination table. Her legs were strapped into stirrups and tubes, and IV lines trailed out from under her covering sheet into humming machines circled around her. 

It was the younger Doctor who sprung into action first, galvanised by a sharp beep from one of the monitors, and the elder Doctor followed a second later. He strode over to her side, indulging in a quick cheek brush before folding back the plasticated sheet just enough to reveal her arms and upper chest. 

"Stop!" The Doctor halted the progress of his fingers to remove the IV line in her wrist at his double's hiss. "Wait until I know for sure what they're doing with those. I don't even know if she's stable enough to remove them…"

"And?" The Doctor clenched his fists and shot to the younger Doctor's side. They both rapidly scanned the readouts from the monitor, narrowing their foreheads simultaneously when they reached the time stamps.

Six minutes until the egg was due to be fertilised.

"We need to—"  
"Hurry up, get over here."

With perfect synchrony, the two Doctors raced over to Rose's side, each placing a hand along opposite temples. 

"Ready?" 

"Just do it."

Closing his eyes and whispering a hasty apology to Rose for going into her mind without express permission, he connected his neural pathways to hers, almost choking at the realisation that at this point in her timeline, she had yet to establish his synaptic tags in her neurons. Her virgin mind was slightly more resistant than he'd experienced with her in his past and her human tactile perception pathways struggled against him in his search to pair up with his younger self. He moved as gently as he could but time was not on their side and with intense regret he finally surged forward at a pace that was sure to give her a headache. Avoiding delving into any of the emotions and memories that flashed before his mind's eye, he moved forward with a single goal and almost fell to his knees in relief when he located the younger version of his own mind somewhere near the left anterior cingulate cortex.

Once connected, it was a simple matter to unlock the reproductive constraints Rassilon had installed as part of graduation from the Academy and bind the their two genetic code sequences together. He emitted a long sigh as he pulled out, the pathways already stronger and more nubile, and slowly removed his fingers from Rose's temple. 

His younger self was faring far worse, his fingers still on her temple and breathing heavily. It wasn't the hyperventilation of a panic attack this time, however, and he knew exactly what his double was experiencing. Warmth; the need to continue drowning and the fear of losing himself in her being forever; a loss of pain and the empty hole it left; the regaining of that pain and the bigger hole it created in its wake. 

"You'll be in her mind again, never fear," he consoled quietly, "it's infinitely better when she's awake."

"She…"

"I know." He was certain his younger self wouldn't have pried into any of her memories or thoughts, but the emotion of love infused into every single molecule in her brain was impossible to avoid. 

"But…"

"You'll live it soon enough." He gave the man exactly three seconds to compose himself and then turned his back and walked over to the cabinets and rummaged through their contents. "We have four minutes, hurry up and get started."

Finding what he was looking for, he turned back to his former self; the man was wide eyed and terrified, his eyes darting back and forth between Rose and his crotch. He watched himself with mild amusement for a second as the shaking Time Lord apparently steeled himself for action and took a step forward, wetting his lips and swallowing hard.

"No, you giant pillock, not _that_ way! Christ, I was an idiot in more ways than one when I was you… Give me a sample in here and we'll inseminate her with, oh, maybe the _multitude of purpose-built equipment you're practically tripping over_." 

He threw his younger self the tube to the needleless syringe he'd located and was frankly surprised he managed to catch it without scrabbling excessively. "Right, yes, of course. Yes. Um, I'll just… Great."

For some strange reason, the Doctor felt compelled to give his younger body some privacy while, er, creating the sample (how were sexual practices excruciating even to talk to your own self about?) and moved toward Rose, gently removing the wires and IV lines she was attached to now that they knew they weren't necessary to keep her stable. The growth accelerator machine was the first to be detached and he glared at the flashing box with bile rising in his throat. He noticed his hands shaking and took a deep breaths to stimulate his parasympathetic nervous system; it helped only a little to calm his nerves, evident by the fact that he jumped when his other self cleared his throat.

"Done. Intravaginal or intracervical implantation, do you think?"

Ignoring the rapid samba in his hearts, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the clinical aspects of what they were about to do. "Intravaginal should be sufficient and less chance of cramping and pain later—"

"—and my super-sperm here shouldn't have a motility problem, so—"

"—yes, intravaginal it is," he finished, swallowing and looking down at the side table with myriad medical tools littered across it. “And never use the word ‘super sperm’ again.” Waving his sonic across the instruments to sterilise them, he heard the other Doctor do the same to the filled needless-syringe. 

“You don’t have to say that again…”

"Agreed."

They looked at each other and then down at Rose. Now disconnected, the monitors were beeping furiously, their frantic noise only exacerbating the urgency of the situation. The Doctors scratched their necks in unison.

It had to be done; it had to be it had to be it had to be…

"Can you…can you hold the speculum if I perform the insemination?"

"Uh huh," his younger self squeaked and picked up the metal instrument, staring at it for a moment before donning his glasses and preparing the tool. The older Doctor set his jaw, willed himself into a clinical and detached mindset, and pulled back the sheet between Rose's splayed legs. 

"For our son," he murmured gravely, recalling the images on the TARDIS screen and the feeling of tiny kicks against his ancient palms for strength. 

If anyone asked him later what he'd actually done with regards to the procedure, he wouldn't be able to tell them, only that the entire world fell away and he performed the artificial insemination to the pinnacle of medical prowess. There were still 37 seconds left on the clock when he pressed the plunger and gently extracted it, leaving the younger doctor to fumble with the speculum retraction. 

He pocketed the syringe (it certainly wouldn't do to leave _that_ TNA lying about in a place like this) and carefully tucked the sheet back around Rose's legs. Smoothing it down, he allowed his hand to linger on her flat stomach for a moment, a catch in his throat at the pivotal moment they'd just enacted, and didn't miss the sharp look his duplicate shot his direction. Ignoring his past insecurities and fears, he moved his fingers up to brush back a strand of sweaty hair from in front of her eyes.

"How will we know if it worked?"

Huh. Good question. If they simply escaped back to the TARDIS now, back to his sophisticated genetic analysers, they risked even further injury if the implantation hadn't been successful. How could they possibly k—

A golden light suddenly perfused the room, so bright they both had to shield their eyes from its intensity. A song, no, a psalmody with heartbeat-timed hexachords resonated through their ears, the sound waves so dense and rich that they seemed to ripple across the room and fill every crevice with their ringing. It hung in the air for only a fraction of a second before decrescendoing into the ether. The light likewise faded slowly, contracting around Rose until they were left in what now seemed like darkness to their pinprick pupils. The walls appeared to be forever stained, however, their formerly stark white expanse now imbued with halcyon speckles.

"Right," they breathed out simultaneously. 

Both Doctors were still gawking at her, wide-eyed and lungs heavy, when her cheek muscle twitched and she pursed her lips. The younger Doctor darted to her side, sending a fierce glare back at his older self. His older self stepped back, his hands up in acquiescence; truthfully, he wasn't sure if his legs would work at the moment. 

Rose's Doctor softly took her hand as she continued to slowly slog through the last vestiges of her drug-induced sleep and brought it to his lips. Her eyes opened, finally, blinking lazily at the harsh lighting of the room, and her future Doctor hurriedly flicked off the light switch to his left, leaving the room bathed in a muted blue glow from the monitors. 

"Doctor?" she rasped, stretching dry lips into a painful smile. 

"I'm here, Rose, I'll always be here. You're fine, everything's…well, it's more than fine, but—"

"We're going to have to erase both your memories," the older Doctor cut in, "so you can tell her whatever you want."

At his voice, she fought against the restraints to turn her head toward him and her Doctor hastily unbuckled the straps. "Doctor? But…" She whipped her head between them both and narrowed her eyebrows.

"He's future me," the Doctor at her side explained quietly, "turns out you needed both of us to rescue you from your wandering off this time." He clearly was trying infuse humour into his voice but it was offset by how low and cracked it came out. 

"Oh. Hi!" she tried to banter, weakly wiggling the fingers still planted on her stomach. Her face quickly turned green however and the highly-experienced-in-that-expression Doctor leapt forward with an empty plastic bowl he'd already  
prepared before she opened her eyes. 

It was achingly familiar the way her damp forehead felt under his hand, the way she slumped into him when she was finished expelling the contents of her stomach, and for the first time in the last forty minutes, he envied his younger self. The fidgeting Doctor on her other side would have heartbreak and terror in his future, but he would also get to hold her like this, would get to live those tiny bursts of hope and the explosions of pride, had yet to experience his first real kiss with the woman he'd already loved in two bodies and would love in all his rest. The first time the baby kicked until his fingers, choking out how much he loved her, the feeling of her mind merging and pervading every atom of his existence… 

And then the Doctor realised something else. All those firsts, brilliant as they were, were only that: beginnings. He had a pregnant and glowing Rose of his own back on _his_ TARDIS, the future spread beneath her feet and their seconds and thirds and forevers hovering within reach. There were still many more firsts too: when he'd first tell her about their baby; the first hiccup; the first contraction; the first time his son opened his eyes. The first time he'd move his mouth from her lips to her throat, the first time she'd arch against him with a whimper, the first time he'd recline her down onto their bed… 

He swallowed, brushing a strand of past-Rose's hair behind her ear as her heavy breathing slowed. _Home_. More than anything else, he wanted to return home and swan dive into the next chapter of their enjoined lives. 

But there was still more to do, more to stitch together so that their history's tapestry would remain intact. 

"It's just the anaesthesia," he heard the younger Doctor reassure Rose quietly, "it'll wear of in a second. Evaporate without a trace in your bloodstream." Smiling softly, he took a step back from the contemporaneous pair and lay the bowl in the sink, turning to the machines to begin dismantling and destroying them. 

"What happened?" Rose asked hoarsely, clearing her throat before continuing. The elder Doctor pawed through the cupboards for a glass to get her some water. "I was on the beach…no, I was getting us drinks, and…oh, and then two men grabbed me, and next thing I know I'm here… Why was I strapped down to a table?" Her eyes widened and both Doctors could hear the acceleration of her heartrate and smell the tangy scent of fear hormones. "What did they do to me? What—"

"Here, drink this." The Doctor handed her a plastic cup of water and she sucked it down gratefully. 

"You're okay, everything's fine," her Doctor murmured, his face unspeakably tender and his gaze flickering between her eyes and her abdomen. It was a look of adulation, of wonder and awe, and he moved his face close to hers and they exchanged meaningless words of reassurance. Watching the scene from the outside, the older Doctor half-smiled and wondered how he ever thought he was being subtle or covert in his feelings for her. Remembering how his ninth body wore his emotions even more overtly on his sleeve, his smile widened into a wry grin.

The entire world must be able to see those three words etched across his face. No wonder even the Dalek noticed it.

Leaving them to their imagined-platonic sweet nothings, the Doctor pried open the door a crack and glanced into the corridor. Jack wasn't in sight but the man on the floor was still securely tied up, so the Doctor quietly closed the door behind him and crept into the hall. 

Around the corner, in the wide-open warehouse-like space, Jack was standing guard, his arms crossed and his eyes vigilant. When he saw the Doctor, a tense grin spread across his face.

“I’ve got three of them but there might be another… Thought I’d let him or her come to me.”

The Doctor glanced at the woman and man on the floor. “Him. Business suit, psychopath’s smile…”

“Ah, the best kind of villain,” Jack commented wryly. “Everything sorted with Rose?”

“Yep. And I’ll tell you all about it once we’re out of here. The law enforcement team should be here in—” He rolled his eyes up into his head to calculate, “—oh, about eight minutes. We’d better get a move on.” 

Both men snapped their heads to the side of the room when they heard a shuffling sound. Jack postured himself into an aggressive stance and the Doctor withdrew his sonic, but both visibly slumped with relief when Rose and the younger Doctor shuffled into sight, his arm gently around her waist. She was clearly still a little discombobulated from the effects of forced unconsciousness and her eyes were barely focused as she struggled with the button on her denim shorts with one hand while trying to keep her torn t-shirt covering the maximum amount of skin. Her Doctor was watching her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye as they slowly walked to meet the other two, and the older Doctor could see the struggle in his eyes, the sheer force it required the Time Lord not to drape his suit jacket around her and scoop her up into his arms. 

Rose had just given up on her jean button when she glanced up and saw Jack staring at her with all the subtly of a train wreck. She blinked once and shook her head as if to clear her vision, but as the time agent remained constant, she finally dropped her jaw.

“Jack?”

For his part, Jack was taking in her flat abdomen and confused expression. He tossed her a patented smile but immediately turned to the Doctor at his side. “Then this is past Rose?” he confirmed under his breath. “This is when it…happened?”

“Yup. There’s more to it, more that none of us had any idea about, but it’ll take quite a bit of time to explain it—” He raised the volume of his voice to be audible to the entire room. “—and there’s still one of these repugnant excuses for a life form loose and we need to make sure this anathematic scheme stops here. Doctor: go with Jack and track him down. I’ll…er, gently erase Rose’s memories of this past hour and then I’ll do yours.”

Rose was drawn closer to the younger Doctor at his older counterparts words, his fingertips digging possessively into her hips. “Maybe that’s not necessary now…we can just go from here, we can…”

The Doctor watched his younger self’s frantic babbling with a raised eyebrow. “Uh huh. And then you’ll skip back to your TARDIS and go shopping for nappies and nipple pads and breast pumps, and you’ll kiss her and tell her you’ll cherish every second you’re with her and never stare at her from your hiding spot under the console, counting the number of breaths left in her lungs?”

His younger self squirmed and while he didn't loosen his grip on the goddess at his side, he fixed his eyes steadfastly on his shoes and refused to meet her searching eyes. 

“Thought so.” Jack opened his mouth to speak but the Doctor cut him off before he could utter a sound and directed his attention over to where the sole woman perpetrator was close to slipping out of her bindings: the former Time Agent strolled over casually to strengthen the knots.

“I wasn't ready back then," the Doctor continued. "That’s why I have to erase your memories. Besides, there are so many fixed points across her pregnancy: even if you grow a pair this instant, we have no choice. But trust me, Doctor,” he said softly, “you won’t regret it. I’m standing here making it happen and so will you.”

His counterpart exhaled a long, shaky breath before nodding once and finally met Rose’s eye. 

“Doctor? What’s going on? You guys are talking so cryptically and my head hurts and everyone’s so serious… And Jack’s here, Jack—”

“I love you.” The words were intoned like a prayer, muted and raw, but his eyes on hers were unwavering. Her mouth fell open and a flush spread across her cheeks as she bit back an indefatigable smile. She slowly raised her hand to rub at the ear closest to his lips, obviously doubting her own senses, but the movement turned into a shy hair tuck when the expression in his eyes left no ambiguity.

“I love you,” she repeated back incredulously, half in question at his words and half in response, her eyes flickering between his as if they would bestow some understanding of how her closed Time Lord had suddenly flung his emotions to the wind. 

Grinning like a loon, the younger Doctor gently disentangled himself from around her and squeezed her hand once. “I can’t wait until I get to say that again.” Without waiting for a response, he floated over to Jack. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Two humans and one older Time Lord were staring at him agape. After a moment, Jack finally broke the silence, smiling salaciously and turning to his time-synched Doctor. “As long as we’re out of danger, by the way, I need to say something I’ve been keeping back for the last half hour. Two Doctors: I can’t tell you what I’m thinking right now…”

The two Doctors grimaced; Rose burst into overwrought giggles that rapidly descended into tears. “Glad you got that out of your system,” the elder Doctor muttered as he high-tailed it over to Rose’s side, pulling her into a hug. Her Doctor gave him a fierce glare along with a possible growl and he had to laugh in response.

“Don’t even trust yourself huh? Sounds about right. Hurry up: five minutes.” Jack and the younger Doctor raced out of the room and he turned to the borderline hysterical woman in his arms. Carefully, he stepped backward until her back was to a wall and slid them both down to the floor, keeping her tucked into his chest the entire time. 

“Rose, I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, but I have to go into your mind to erase this. You—future you—asked me to do anything necessary to preserve the time lines. But…” He trailed off. This was the true beginning of the culmination of all his hopes and dreams and at the same time she and her Doctor still had miles to go. “Thank you,” he finally choked out, the thumb from his hand around her waist moving forward to brush against the divot of her hipbone. “Even if we hadn’t fixed things today, even if he hadn’t been mine, you’ve made me so happy…”

A wheezing sob escaped her and he knew it was time. Ghosting his fingers up her sides and up to her temples, he took one last look at her and closed his eyes. “This won’t hurt, just relax. 

“Do whatever you need to do,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. 

Smiling weakly at the trust she always placed in any version of himself, he slipped inside her mind. It was easy, this time, and it only took a few seconds to break the tenuous new synaptic and dendretic connections in her working memory centres leading to her long-term hippocampal and distributed network storage, ensuring that the past hour of her experience would never be archived for retrieval. Noticing some lingering evidence of the anaesthesia and the S'toffam implantation as well as a few general muscle abrasions, he quickly fixed those up too before withdrawing and reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of her now sleeping body. He’d put a three-minute delay on the process so that he and Jack would have time to disappear before she 'woke up' in the same state she'd been in before he went into her mind.

Right on schedule, Jack and his younger self stormed back into the barren room, angrily dragging a struggling man in a business suit between themselves. With one last stroke of Rose’s cheek, the Doctor stood up and joined them.

“They’re planning on scaling up; there are vats and vats of different off-world and genetically modified insemination materials in here. Rooms and rooms of medical tables and—” The younger Doctor could barely speak between furious pants, the Oncoming Storm simmering dangerously behind his eyes.

“We found this ignominious imbecile cowering in a room of at least ten bunks, like a fucking boot camp. Heavy locks on the doors, of course,” Jack added, his fury breathtakingly similar in strength to the Doctor’s.

“Empty?”

“Unused, as far as we can tell. We destroyed everything.” Jack pushed the man to the ground, belly side down, and both he and the Doctor skillfully wrapped rope around his wrists and ankles. 

“Good. At least we were able to intervene early enough.” The Doctor glanced at the sleeping Rose in the corner. “Our little wanderer saved numerous lives, once again.”

The younger Doctor grunted and dug his heal into the man’s back. His older counterpart smiled. “Perfect. Exactly as I remember my memories starting.” Before the incensed Time Lord could argue, he forced himself into his mind and deftly broke off his memory traces as well, setting a nominal thirty-second time delay. 

Disengaging the connection, he checked that both Rose and the cowardly-but-growing Doctor were inert and in familiar positions before gesturing to Jack. “Come on, we have to get out of here before the police arrive.” They sprinted out the main door, turning the corner into an alley just as the sound of dozens of synchronised footsteps filled the air. Both men slumped back against the brick in relief, taking a moment to catch their breaths. 

“How is this going to work?” Jack asked as his panting levelled off, an inscrutable look on his face. “If you’ve changed her past, will you go back to the TARDIS and she won’t be pregnant? Will she have new memories of the last few months?” 

If Jack was expecting this to be a touchy subject, he was soon proven wrong as a beam lit up the Doctor’s face. “She’s still pregnant. Nothing has changed: it’s the same for her as it’s ever been. It’s always been this way.”

“What the hell were we just doing in there then? I thought you were fixing things!” The Captain’s entire body tensed up, steam veritably whistling out his ears. “You mean to tell me you went back and you _didn’t_ prevent them from…you didn’t stop them from hurting her?!” He advanced on the Doctor, who wisely took a step back at the rage in the man’s eyes.

“Circular paradox: I changed something that had always been changed.” The Doctor scratched the back of his neck and motioned toward the TARDIS encased in a dark shadow. “Listen, I promised I’d tell you everything, and I can’t tell you how thankful I am for your help: it all would have collapsed without you there. But I really, _really_ want to get back to Rose right now and tell her everything. It’s…it doesn’t change anything and it changes everything and…” He wet his lips and worried them between his teeth. “Jack, would you be okay to get back to Cardiff on your own and we’ll meet you there? Ten minutes, fifteen minutes tops. I have to prove to Rose I can drive punctually anyway and…yeah? Please?”

Jack squinted one eye. “Ten minutes?”

“Five, if you’d like.”

“Five it is. And you unlock this for good,” he bargained, indicating the vortex manipulator on his wrist, “don’t think I didn’t notice you giving me a one-time use code.”

The Doctor sighed but ran his sonic screwdriver over the device. “There. Happy?”

“Not as happy as you are, but enough. See ya soon, Doc!”

“Don’t call me—and he’s gone and you’re talking to yourself again, Doctor,” he muttered to himself, “not that this hasn’t been the day for that.” 

The final few steps to the TARDIS door felt like a victory parade, a walk down the aisle, a coronation march. He was aware of each strand of breeze around his face, his legs felt disembodied, there was phantom gauze in his dry mouth. 

_Rose_

The buzzing in his ears crescendoed until the moment his hand touched the blue faux-wood of the door and his song bridged and the chorus rang out. 

_Rose_

_Rose and your child_

_The entire universe lives behind this door_

The doors flung open and he hurled himself inside.


	22. Chapter 22

She was curled up on the jump seat, her legs half on and half off the ratty old chair as if she'd fallen asleep without warning. Her mouth hung open and her arm covered her hair like she was protecting her dreams from escaping. If he'd thought she couldn't be any more beautiful, his beliefs were shaken once again. 

Padding quietly over to her slumbering form, he crouched before her and watched the temperate rhythm of her breathing until his eyes began to feel heavy with the weight of comfort and unadulterated contentment. He raised his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her cheek and then trailed his fingers down her side to rest on the swell of her stomach. His touch combined with the abrupt flailing of the baby beneath his fingertips began to gradually rouse Rose from her sleep and he watched raptly as she swallowed and began smacking her lips together. Her fingers twitched and he deftly reached around to thread his own through them. 

"Doctor," she rasped through a dry throat and used their enjoined hands to drag him closer and curl up more tightly on the bench, attempting to wrap her leg around his but failing in the small confines. 

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, his face now smushed into her chest. "Right, let's move this to a bed, yeah?"

She made a noise of discontent, her eyes still closed. "No, I'm awake. Tell me what happened." 

He waited a second and her breathing began to even out again. "Uh huh… In the morning. It's been a long day, especially with the telepathy. And I'm exhausted too." 

She made another noise, one he couldn't quite interpret, laced as it was with sleep, and with a smile he gently detangled himself and lifted her into his arms. Still half asleep, she made a sound unambiguously interpretable as approval and locked her hands behind his neck and snuggled her face into his chest. 

This. 

_This_ , this and everything else were what he'd been seeking from the stars all his life. 

The TARDIS graciously opened all doors in his path to her room and the cool air hitting the empty space in his arms once he lay her down in bed led him to count the precious milliseconds wasted as he kicked off his shoes and almost ripped his shirt buttons in its removal. 

He didn't know when he'd began counting her absence rather than the number of breaths left in her lungs, but suddenly his exquisitely accurate sense of time wasn't quite so bitter; it propelled him _toward_ instead of away; it was a tally of the number of spaces between their fingers, between their lips, between the feeling of her skin communing with his; a measure of the minimal amount of ticks from her irreverent grandfather clock before they could be together again. It wasn't the time left with her but the amount of time he'd squandered running away.

Sliding into bed beside her, he drew her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. "Good night, Rose," he murmured into her hair.

\---

She wasn't close enough, not enough by far even though his arms encircled her waist and her face was cloistered in the crook of his neck. Stretching out her legs momentarily, she slipped them through his like a lower limb hug and tried to scoot her torso closer to the warmth of his, but failed when her stomach hit his belly and refused to let her bridge the last gap. His arms tightened around her during her movements and his thumb began lightly stroking her ribcage, but otherwise he remained asleep. Sighing lightly, she twisted around so that her back was flush with his front, re-inserting her legs between his and pulling his arms close to her chest. They just about fit in the minute space between the beginning swell of her abdomen and between her breasts, his fingers ending just centimeters from her lips. 

Going cross-eyed, she watched his fingers drum a little beat on her collarbone and tried to stifle the urge to capture the pads in her teeth. A slow smile rose up her lips a few seconds later as the last few hours floated back into her mind, the way he'd kissed her and hadn't backed away, his promise that he wanted, he _would_ kiss her again, and she ducked her head to brush her lips across his dancing fingertips. A quiet moan sounded behind her and she felt his other arm pull her so tightly to his chest that she hoped to fall inside. 

"Morning," she whispered, the words forming and vibrating around the fingers still just inside the entrance to her mouth. 

"Christ, you smell so good," he mumbled into her neck, planting his lips down and gently sucking. "Like milk and honey and nirvana."

She shivered and he groaned in response, rocking the hips that usually maintained a polite distance into her bum and groaning again. Her heart stopped and her breathing shuddered when her sleep- and lust-addled mind finally managed to interpret the tactile and proprioceptive input shooting to her brain. If she'd wondered about how Time Lords expressed sexuality or if they even did at all (this puzzlement becoming less and less likely as the last few weeks had passed), there was absolutely no mistaking the hard length straining against his trousers and rutting gently against her backside now. A wave of wetness rushed down between her legs and she felt the wet folds clench involuntarily at this new piece of information. 

A soft moan escaped her throat as his second hand cupped her breast and she couldn't resist pushing back against the hard length brushing against almost-but-not-quite the right spot, attempting to angle herself more optimally, but unfortunately it only had the effect of further waking up the dozy Time Lord behind her. With a breathy sigh, he stopped the rocking of his hips and moved his hand to still her hips. 

"It's not morning yet," he said in an even tone but she could hear a slight breathlessness in his voice. "You've only been asleep for a couple of hours. We should talk when we're fully rested, okay?"

Blowing out a long puff of air, she nodded her head, not quite trusting herself to speak without squeaking or panting. The Doctor brushed his lips across the back of her neck and somehow she managed to close her eyes and return to her dreams. 

\---

The next time she woke up, she was far less comfortable and it took her several moments to figure out what was wrong, because something was wrong, something was _so_ wrong... Her hands first shot down to the baby bump, but everything seemed intact, her son apparently waking up in the warm lake of her womb and beginning to squirm excitedly. She smiled and grappled for the Doctor's hand to share.

 _Ah_. No warm Time Lord arms around her. That would be it. 

It had been a few weeks since he'd arisen earlier than her and left her alone in bed: it had been common when he first started staying in her bed to ward off the nightmares, but ever since he'd discovered that their root lay in some sort of mental link they'd once shared and he could fend them off via her tactile receptors at night, he'd been there every morning. Barring that incident a few days ago, of course, when he'd freaked out and distanced himself from her out of fear… But that well and truly seemed to be over and the last couple of days had been the closest they'd ever been, physically _and_ emotionally. 

Physically at least in terms of proximity and arguably-chaste touch, anyway.

Rose stretched out with a pit in her stomach that seemed to grow larger with every second that passed. Was he distancing himself again because of his brief (oh, too brief) loss of control last night? He'd been half asleep, and maybe it was all just an automatic physiological reaction she'd felt… Perhaps he was under the console right now, regretting his baser, primitive actions and mulling over how to break it to her gently.

As her mind woke up even more, she remembered his hour-long visit to Honolulu and the scene of when/where she'd gotten this hyperactive baby kicking furiously under her fingers. She rubbed her belly absently as numerous scenarios flashed through her mind, few cheerful, and was frustrated that she couldn't remember him coming back last night and what the expression had been on his face. Had he been defeated, angry, scared? He'd been right: they only _thought_ they knew what had happened that day…What if it was worse? Far worse? What if he'd had to stand back and watch or help it happen? She'd made him promise to do anything to make sure her baby still existed, regardless of his circumstances. And she hadn't even been able to console him, fast asleep in her own futile dreams… 

She finally bit her lip as if the vague pain could stop the toxic ruminations and sat up in bed. It wasn't any use lying here worrying, and there was no way in hell she was going to let him stew this time. 

Despite her brave thoughts, the pit in her stomach continued to grow as she dressed and ran a comb through her hair, not quite enough that she needed to dash to the bathroom, but enough to sour her already disintegrating mood. 

Her hand was on the doorknob, about to slam it open, when it surprised her by twisting under her fingers and opening into the hall. The Doctor stood in the doorway, balancing a tray of fruit salad and streamed milk on a tray in one hand while the other pulled open the door.

She burst into tears. 

"Rose?" The tray dropped to the floor, glass breaking and cutlery clanging against ceramic, as he gripped her upper arms and frantically scanned his eyes across her. "What's wrong?"

Embarrassed at the volatility of her tear ducts and for doubting him, she buried her face in his chest and he pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry, I'm overreacting… You weren't there and…I still don't know what happened yesterday and you…and I'm feeling nauseated and…" 

"Oh, Rose, I'm sorry…Oh!" he exclaimed, pulling back from her with wide eyes. "I didn't even think…it's been so long since I've even thought about…all this time too, and I…" he babbled as he started to rub her arms as if she was hypothermic and he was trying to warm her up. After a few (extremely confusing) moments, he pulled her close again and slipped his hands under the back of her vest top and flattened them against the skin of her back. His slightly cool hands made her jump slightly and he took them out of her shirt and quickly breathed on them before planting them skin-to-skin on her belly. 

"Um, Doctor? What are you doing?" 

Keeping his hands firmly over the baby, he stepped back and met her eye. "I should have known…how could I have been so clueless? When you were sick all those days at Jackie's flat… It's all my fault, I'm so sorry…"

"What are you going on about? " Rose narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about, all your fault? And why were you rubbing my arms?"

He swallowed. "Do you feel better?"

"What? I…Oh. Yeah, I guess I do… My stomach doesn't feel queasy anymore… What, so your hands are magic now? Could have used that trick a month ago…"

"Yeah, should have," he muttered to himself darkly, but then his eyes softened and he leaned down to kiss the swell of her belly. "Good morning, baby boy. What do you say we feed your mother?" He stood up and glanced at the mess of fruit and glass on the floor. "Luckily there’s loads more fruit in the galley. And then we can talk: I've landed us somewhere special."

"Okay," she whispered, biting her lip. 

"And Rose?"

"Mmm?"

"You're stuck with me."

"I know," she sniffed, her face crumpling into tears again. Bloody pregnancy hormones.

\---

After breakfast Rose excused herself to take a shower and the Doctor managed to fight off the urge to camp outside her bathroom door. Barely. He wandered instead to the beginnings of a door he'd noticed along one of the front corridors and peered through the fissures. As he'd suspected, the TARDIS was in the process of building a nursery, the high cathedral ceilings and rounded corners slowly being erected alongside two rows of columns down the middle of the room. Vines were stretching their tendrils around the dappled marble posts and artificial light streamed in through frosted windows. All together the room had a serene, cloister-like feel to it already, despite being under constriction, and the Doctor sucked in a deep breath before pressing his hand in gratitude to the coral hallway wall. 

When Rose emerged into the console room not long after, he immediately hopped up from the pilot's chair where he'd been staring at the empty space where she would come out. A slow smile slid over her face at his eagerness and just a tiny blush. 

"Alright then. Where did you land us? I know you're dying to show me."

"The location itself isn't that exciting, it's only Earth, 1896. The year doesn't matter. There's just something I wanted to show you here and it's also a nice peaceful place to talk."

She held up the jacket in her hands. "What month is it?"

"June. You'll be fine without the jacket." He patted his pockets, glancing at her white long-sleeved maternity dress. "I have a jumper for you if it turns breezy."

"Thanks. Ready?"

Taking her hand, he nodded without hesitation and together they pushed open the TARDIS door. It was indeed a pleasant summer day and they stepped out into a wooded green area with a surrounding stonewall and an ancient fifteenth century church. The echoes of a church bell hung in the air and from the sounds of an organ vibrating across the ground, it was clear that a service was in progress inside. 

He noted her slight confusion at the locale, but didn't explain as he led them around to the churchyard. Lines of haphazardly arranged grave markers dotted the shaded enclosure, crumbling and almost horizontal slabs juxtaposed with grand tombs and moss-covered crucifixes. The ground was carpeted with purple flowers and long grass nearly as tall as some of the gravestones, growing wild over the well-worn dirt pathways. 

"We're going to talk in a cemetery? Rather morbid, don't you think?" 

"On the contrary. Well, literally morbid, yes. But it's so quiet and still here…and there's something about the atmosphere in any place of the dead…the feeling of grandeur, that's there's so much more than you or me out there, that all things come to dust and eroded stone. Life is too short to lay in wait. Or in fear."

She didn't reply but when he saw her bite her lip and look away, he understood. "Death is terrifying. But if we didn't imagine it behind corners and under our beds, what would press us forward? Life would be drawn out and meaningless."

"What happened in that hour, Doctor?"

Smiling reassuringly, he pulled her over to a bench in one corner of the churchyard and sat down. "Rose, I want you to know, before I tell you, that it doesn’t change anything. Well, it does, but not my feelings for you or our son." He saw the look of dread appear on her face and quickly continued. "It's wonderful, I promise. You'll think so too, or at least I hope you will. But…the fact that I love you and Muppet here more today than I did yesterday is purely because that happens every single morning. And I would have brought you here in the near future anyway."

She smiled weakly at his nickname for the baby but clutched his hand anxiously and absently massaged her belly.

"Nothing's changed, Rose. Everything is the same as it's always been. We were just wrong. Wrong about so many things, but…if we hadn't been wrong, we wouldn't have ended up here, so I can't regret anything, except, of course, the amount of suffering and imagining you—"

"Doctor," she interjected softly, "you're babbling again. Tell me what happened in that hour we lost our memory."

"Right. Yes." He tapped his fingers along the bench and scratched the back of his neck. "I think it's best if I just show you…um, in my mind. And, um…just know that I was doing whatever it took to maintain the baby's timeline, okay?"

"I trust you completely," she assured him but a hint of a tremble in her lips belied her apparent calm. "Show me?"

With shaking hands, he placed his thumbs on her temples and slid gently into her mind. He couldn't restore her memories from that hour since they'd never been formed in the first place, but they would have been little use anyway since she'd been unconscious for most of the time. Instead, he replayed his most recent memories in her head so that she was privy to both the scene, like video playback, but also including his own emotions about the events. It was a nerve-wracking endeavour, but he also knew he wanted nothing less than complete openness with her. 

Fading out at about the time he'd erased his own memories in the warehouse, he slipped delicately out of her mind and watched eagle-eyed for her reaction, She kept her eyes closed for a few moments and he stayed quiet, allowing her to process the events he hadn't quite processed himself. The wind picked up and the flowers briefly whipped against the steadfast stones before it died down and they resumed their staid guard.

What if she was disgusted, either because he'd been forced to inseminate her (he'd been entirely professional about it, surely she could have seen…) or because she was carrying an alien baby? Or both? It was one thing when she thought it was a human baby, albeit with an unsavoury start, but now that she knew that her son was at least half Time-Lord… Or maybe she felt trapped, like she was tied to him forever, and she hadn't even explicitly consented to having his baby and—

When tears began to pool behind her closed eyelids, he was sure she was angry, revolted, appalled… And then she opened her eyes and fixed him with a look of such unadulterated _love_ that he almost staggered back and fell off the bench. 

"He's _really_ ours? He has been this whole time?"

"He's been ours, at least in my hearts, for a long time now. It's just that now we know he's always been ours genetically, too. Are you…is that okay?"

She declined to answer verbally, instead falling forward and kissing him between parted lips. He responded instantly, pouring out his feelings unhurried through her mouth: his lips whispered his love, his tongue sang out his praise and thanksgiving, his fingertips on her arms spelled out unending diadems of ecstasy. Strains of a hymn drifted out an open window, distilled in the sunshine and mingling with the sounds of birds chirping in the giant oak on the other side of the churchyard.

She pulled away slowly, first closing her mouth but still responding to his lips' liturgy for several moments until he reluctantly planted one last feather-light kiss and released her. 

"I take it that means you're okay with it," he rasped out between shallow breaths.

The smile that broke across her face drew every molecule of joy out of the universe and sheltered them in the lining of her lips, in the sparkle of her eye, in the stretch of zygomaticus major and minor. 

"Yeah…"

"Brilliant…" he hummed, leaning forward to kiss her again but was stopped by a finger on his lips. 

"And just to be a hundred percent clear, you're happy about this too?" 

He moved his lips so that they brushed down her finger and across her palm. "Beyond happy."

"How are so you calm about this? A few months ago, I would have said you'd run for the hills and never looked back."

He sighed and disengaged her lips from her hand. "I might have, back then. Mind you, I would have looked back in a constant loop for the rest of my days, but…yeah. I wasn't in the right place until recently. I was wondering this morning why all those initial scans I did of you when we first returned from Honolulu came up negative. I’d programmed the bio-scanner to look for human…um, body fluids, true, but really they should have alerted me to any type of non-host genetic code… I think maybe the TARDIS played a minor role in keeping that information buried away. I'd be furious except that she was right. Usually is…"

"Smart girl," Rose murmured. "What would you have done if you'd figured it out right away?"

The Doctor fidgeted his feet and glanced away from her. "It would have been your choice, always, but… I probably would have offered to terminate it before the egg even divided for the first time."

"Better than a hysterectomy, anyway," she muttered, scraping her toe along the barren grass under the bench. 

"I'd have never forgiven myself if it had come to that."

"I know. And it didn't happen, so… I guess what scares me about that is that you wouldn't have consulted me. I would have almost certainly agreed with you and consented, but… No more making choices for me, yeah? Especially those that involve what you think are best for me or what I might want. Running away, for example. I will _never_ want that. I want…I want _you_. Always."

"I promise. That's actually why I brought you here, I…the…when…" The words fought against his throat every step and he practically had to wrestle them out. "I brought you here to show you something."

"Yeah?" Her smile was a mixture of shy and pleased and he couldn't stop himself from kissing both cheeks before standing up and helping her up.

"I've been here a couple of times; it's a nice secluded spot, doesn't change much through the centuries, and like I said, there's something about the sacred and serenity in the air… A good place to think."

"What did you think about?"

"Same old stuff anyone mulls over amongst the stones of the dead. Meaning of life, the unconquerability of death, the aching beauty of each blade of grass, how small we all are under the stars." He led her to a larger stone tomb in the far corner, heavily draped with handing tree branches. His palm was getting sweatier with each trodden step and he had to stop and wipe them on his trousers. 

" _You're_ not small though." She leaned back against the tree trunk and smiled up at the bird's nest above her head. 

"Perhaps not, and perhaps I didn't want to be. What better way to achieve immortality than standing as shepherd to the universe…" He closed his eyes for second and then moved to stand beside her. "Rose, I don't want to be that anymore. I want to be a tiny cog and not the watchmaker." He nodded at the tomb. "Thomas Mordaunt is spending the rest of his eternity entombed here. He was mostly unremarkable, brilliantly unremarkable, except for one verse of poetry that has haunted much of my life. It's inscribed on the stone, there."

Rose squinted at the well-worn stone. " _One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name,_ " she read aloud. She exhaled and looked back at him with wide eyes. "Doctor…"

"The closest I've ever come to praying to a higher power has been here, beseeching the universe that there was something out there worth more than a emotionless lifetime." He cleared his throat and took her hand, stroking the skin between her thumb and index finger. "Rose… I… I've been consumed for too long about those endless centuries after you're gone, but I don't want that anymore. A lifetime without pain isn't a happy one; it's an empty one. I want that hour of glorious life. With you."

She nodded furiously, the motions hastening down the tears pooled in her eyes. Moving his fingers along her hand, he absently circled the ring on her left hand.

"On Gallifrey names aren't used for identification," he continued after a moment, "they're used as a symbol, a sign of trust and fidelity. It's a vow, I… I'd really like to tell you my name."

Biting her lip, she glanced down at where he was still toying with the diamond band. "What does that mean? What kind of vow?"

He saw where her eyes lingered and smiled softly against the rapid beating of his hearts. "That ring's a symbol too, it's…it's very similar. Except that my name is solely me promising myself to you; don't worry, you're not bound in return."

"What if I want to be?"

He stared. The doors to the church abruptly opened and the stiff-backed congregation slowly filed out and milled around the yard, but he barely noticed. 

"That ring on your finger is more than enough, Rose, so much more than enough for me… I know I didn't ask, and I realise it was part of a ruse, but…well, you should know how much it means to me that you haven't taken it off, how much I love seeing it sparkle on your hand, the way you fiddle with it…"

"There isn't any way for me to promise anything to you? To, um, bind myself to you?" Her eyebrows were furrowed and he wanted to kiss away the creases. So he did. 

"I don't deserve you. We could allow Jackie to plan that wedding after all, if you like."

"Yeah, but…" She shifted her weight several times and scratched at her arm. "Yeah. Yes." Her lips curled upward but her face was not an expression of joy; his hearts plummeted at the distress evident in her eyes. 

"Only if you want, though. I don't need anything, I…"

"I can't give you anything from your culture because I'm human, huh?" she whispered hoarsely, and no: no, this was not the way he wanted this conversation to go. Rose Tyler miserable and forlorn was _never_ something he wanted to see ever again, and he wasn't sure how it all derailed into this point. 

And then it clicked. Through his tightly packed jumble of nerves and exaltations, he'd missed what she'd been trying to tell him, what he didn't think anyone would ever tell him. He'd just promised her he wouldn't assume he knew what she wanted and he'd immediately done it again.

"I…Do you want to?" He swallowed, squeezing every ounce of courage from what seemed a rock that turned out to be a sponge. "We could, um… There's a marriage-like ceremony. And there's also...completely optionally, mind you, not even part of the ceremony, and not often done at all, and for completely understandable reasons—"

"Doctor," she cut through his ramblings with a smile. 

"Bonding. We could bond. Mentally." He held his breath and his hearts out on a platter for her devouring.

"What does that entail?"

"It's…it's a semi-permanent linking of our mindscapes. I don't know if it's ever been done between a Time Lord and a human, but I don't see why it couldn't be done. It's a big deal though, Rose, nothing to be rushed into impulsively. You can't, actually, it takes quite a bit of time."

She nodded. "Okay. I want to learn more about that then. And the marriage equivalent?"

Bloody respiratory bypass: it never engaged for emotionally-engendered breathing loss. "Ah," he squeaked and rapidly cleared his throat. "That's simple, just need a witness and a ribbon. And…and I could tell you my name then. That's usually how it's done. But it's also not necessary..."

A cheeky smile lit up her face and he felt himself involuntarily mirror back the beam. "Well, you'd better ask me then. Because we're not leaving this churchyard until this ring on my hand is a genuine symbol rather than just something you snuck onto my finger to shut up my mum."

This woman would be (had already been) his death and rapturous rebirth. His nerves floated away along with the puffs of cottonwood seedlings abseiling through the breeze. The earth stopped spinning and the buzz of the crowd by the church doors muted and the birds hovered mid-flight.

He dropped his hands down to her hips, sliding one along to the baby bump, and moved his lips to lightly brush along her ear.

"Be my wife, Rose Tyler."


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new 'explicit sex' rating! A non-explicit, cleaner version of the chapter is available [here](http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/cleanerOCHchap23)

"Be my wife, Rose Tyler."

His son fluttered under his fingers, his beloved was warm under his hand, and his knees almost collapsed under the weight of his waking dream.

"Go on, then," she laughed, her feigned nonchalance foiled by the tears racing down her cheeks. 

Suddenly so fully of buzzing, exponentially expanding energy it couldn't be contained, he lifted her into his arms and spun them both around, moving her over to the quotation-engraved sepulchre and seating her upon its smooth top ledge. Such a grin bloomed across her face, unfurling in her eyes and in the fingertips gripping his shoulders, that he froze mid-trajectory to her lips. 

Canticles and their descants, odes and sonnets, verse and prose flooded his mind: plaintive arias about the single golden tendril draped across her cheekbone, iambic pentameter praising the movement of her tongue across her lips, novellas soliloquising the way his hearts skipped a beat when she fixed her eyes on his. He loved her single human heart (surely too small to encompass the breadth of her compassion) and her mind (the way she never gave up hope and the twinkle in her eye when she teased him): each of her component parts and the sum of their whole. 

Lips just centimetres from hers, he opened his mouth to impart a infinitesimal fraction of these benedictions and beatitudes: the first words to his affianced. But the multitude tangled in his throat, and what came out was—

"I want to be inside you.”

Eyes widening at his own words, he reflexively stepped back and braced himself for her reaction. She blinked at him in surprise and a shiver ricocheted from her chest to her toes.

Well. Now he really had shared all his secrets with her. Cue the babbling.

“Um. Sorry, I didn’t really mean for it to come out like that. I… Are you cold? I have your jumper here, you should cover up, um, I mean…” He fished through his jacket pockets for the navy blue zippered top he’d swiped from her wardrobe that morning, pulling it out triumphantly and proffering it to the smirking seraph in front of him. 

Ah.

She had her eyes fixed on his, warm emotions swirling in the whirlpool of their depths, and she took the jumper without looking away and dropped it to the stone. 

“I’m not cold.”

If smiles were audible, hers would be pealing out and putting the bells calling the parishioners back into the church to shame. If there _was_ a secret chord, it had revealed itself in the space between curve of her lips and in its echo within his hearts.

She took his hands and guided them to rest on her knees. The feeling of her bare skin sent shivers down his spine and into his fingertips as the remaining space between their bodies pleaded for its own vanquishing. Stepping forward, his hips slotted between her legs like adjacent jigsaw pieces; it felt more right than anything had felt even cumulatively before he met her. Words hadn’t quite returned to his mind so he watched her with mute reverence as she breathed out a contented hum.

“Just to be absolutely clear here, when you say you want to be inside me, do you mean telepathically or…physically?” _There_ was that teasing sparkle.

“Both?” he finally squeaked out once the cogs in his brain began turning again, faster and faster and faster. “But, um, particularly the latter. And not necessarily right now…that is, I wanted to make my intentions, no, that’s not the right word. My wants? Desires? Dreams? Anyway, those, I wanted to put that out there, see what you think, either way, maybe one day or year or—”

She shifted so that she was leaning back on her hands and watched him with amusement, finally interceding just as he hit peak rambling velocity.

“If you were inside me right now, it wouldn’t be soon enough."

Her tongue peeked out from behind her what could only be described as filthy grin and he felt every single muscle in his body tighten before turning to jelly. 

Oxytocin production ramped up in his posterior pituitary gland and for the first time in what seemed like aeons, he flung open the gates leading to his spinal cord and allowed the neurotransmitters to saturate his central and peripheral systems. Blood rushed away from his head, diverted to more important matters between his legs, and he didn't bother to inhibit the involuntary rocking of his hips into her pelvis. She moaned lowly in response and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles and pulling him flush against her body.

“TARDIS?” he rasped out, breathing heavily, forgetting what he was saying before he'd finished speaking. Her eyes were hooded and glassy and he could sense her unraveling in time with his. 

More. He wanted, he _needed_ more of those moans, more of those throaty hums and noises of satisfaction. His lips pressing to the corner of her mouth elicited a groan rivalling the rhythmic psalmody inside the chapel and he wanted more; he wanted twelve-part chords and an eternal drumming beat; he wanted her moans to blanket his name; he wanted to huddle in the sanctuary of her body and let the harsh world sail right on by.

"Too far away," she gasped out as he latched his lips to the side of her neck, glancing at the time ship about fifty metres away. "You might change your mi—ind between now and there and I'm not taking that ch—ance."

It was his teeth, lightly grazing a line down her collarbone and settling on her sternum, that made her words stutter like a record player and he smiled into her skin as he continued to suck. She shifted her weight to rest on one hand so the other could fist in his hair, her nails raking across his scalp causing him to shudder as he sucked a spot right above her heart.

Looking up at her without detaching his lips from the reassurance of her heartbeat, he changed course when she licked her lips and instead took chase: as if starved ( _and he was—oh, he was…_ ) he seized her mouth, sucking and nipping at those plump lips until she ceded against the battering ram of his tongue. The battle may have been uncontested, but still he pillaged her mouth, pouring out his emotions through her lips and lapping up her own offerings. 

"Never changing my mind, couldn't if I tried," he panted between short, shallow kisses as their fervour swelled in parallel with that trapped in the cage of his trousers. Tight. Too tight. "I'm yours."

She hummed in agreement and he tangled his tongue with hers once more, planting his victory flag in every corner of her mouth before trailing down her jawline. Every millimetre: he wanted to claim it all. Groaning as he ground himself against her, he wondered with only dim coherence whether he should be trying to commit to memory those stifled cries and deep-throated moans rolling from her lips in response. After the fourth sound, he abandoned the notion: there would be many, _many_ more of these noises in their future and he wouldn't lessen the fleeting moment by worrying about their dearth after she was gone. 

A sharp clearing of the throat startled him from where he was blithely nestled in the seam of her chin and her exposed throat, and he lazily moved his half-lidded eyes toward the perpetrator. A group of three women in wide skirts and bustles were whispering furiously between themselves, looking over at the two of them, aghast, every few seconds. 

He didn't care. 

He'd held himself from this moment for too long to have an eye for anything but his wife-to-be and the taste of her skin under his lips. 

Moving his hands around her waist and shoulder blades so she was no longer reclining back on the mossy stone and was now pressed against his body again, he returned his lips to her neck, fixing upon the gaggle of women the fiercest glare he would muster in his lust-addled state. Unsurprisingly, this only stoked their indignity and before long they were tugging on the arms of several other parishioners and pointing at the enrapt couple. 

Rose twisted in his arms at the commotion and he sighed, stepping back the minimal distance to rummage through his jacket pocket.

"Aha. Thought I might still have these." He fished out two gold bands and begrudgingly released his other arm from her hip to fumble for his sonic and quickly run it across their surface. 

"Maybe we _should_ just go back to the TARDIS," she whispered as a group of stony-faced men began to advance upon their corner of the necropolis. "What are you doing? How many rings do you keep in those pockets?!"

"Biodampers. But I've added a perception filter so no one will notice us. Put this on and voila! Instant invisibility cloak. Sort of."

She laughed, a bit breathlessly, and held out her hand. "Really, it's okay, we can go back to the TARDIS. We're in a graveyard, after all. This is possibly a _little_ sacrilegious…"

He slipped the ring onto her right hand and quickly slid his own on. The quasi-mob halted in place, their faces suddenly expressing identical boredom and slight confusion. The men glanced over at them but only shrugged, turning back to the women with crinkled foreheads who only shook their heads and re-adjusted their hats. 

"Do _you_ find it sacrilegious?" he asked softly. 

She surveyed the cloistered field of crumbling marble and the drapery of tree branches. "I think it's beautiful. Where we are…and what we're doing."

The Doctor smiled and dropped his hands to stroke the inside of her knees, gesturing to the monument she was sitting on. "I think old Thomas here would agree. Life couldn't get much more glorious than this."

This time when he kissed her it was tender and unhurried. Her lips were like silk against the tip of his tongue and when she parted them to allow him entrance, he glided inside with silent supplication. She brought her hand up to his cheek just as he squeezed her knees and their contented moans merged between their lips. He could stay in this moment forever, playing out their feelings in an endless theatre of the lips, but as with all things in life, growth and change dominated and it wasn't long before they were both breathless in a futile quest to extract everything they needed for one another's lips. 

It was everything and not nearly enough.

As her fingers moved to ghost along the back of his neck, he rocked his throbbing length into her heat, raring for relief. Her jersey dress was thin and bunched up around her thighs, his trousers were thin and straining, and there was no way she could be unaware of the proof of his desire. She moaned into his lips and he lightly thrust against her again to coax out more of the same. 

Skating his fingertips along the inside of her thighs and under the white material, he skimmed the uncharted territory until he was encircling an upper thigh in each hand. An even more enticing sound rose from low in her throat when his thumbs began tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs; the sound shot straight to his groin and the throbbing, the aching need for friction and skin and consummation and communion and connection and consumption intensified even further. Was it even possible for him to be this hard, this desperate, this blind to all-else but the woman squirming in his arms? He continued to tease her with his fingers, gliding close but not close enough, grinding his erection into his wrists with increasing urgency. 

Crying out his name as a plea, she tried to maneouver herself to push against his fingers and the throbbing torment was too much, he was too needy, everything was too imperative to consider any form of language in reply. She was so soft and warm and radiating into his hands and flushed and carrying his son and he wanted nothing more than to plunge into her heat and burn. Centuries of restraint had done nothing if not build up the muscles of his self-control, however, and he was able to delay his gratification for more important matters, namely worshiping every crevice of her skin and eking out more throaty moans of his name.

 _His name._

Moving over to suck along the shell of her ear, she arched into him and dug her fingers into his hips, pulling even closer. "Rose," he murmured, trying his best to dampen his ardour and speak with a steady voice. Failing. "Do you still want to marry me now? Here?"

"Mmm," she gasped as he moved down to plant feather light kisses on the skin below her ear. "Yes. Now, but…later. Busy right now." Snaking her hands in between their bodies, she toyed with his trouser button while her other palm pressed into his erection and he couldn't help bucking into her hand. 

"Rose, I… I want this, but..mmm…I want to tell you my name even more so. First. I want you to know…fuck, Rose."

Any remaining lucid thought evacuated the premises as she began stroking him through pinstripes and he battled with his hyper-capacitive Time Lord brain to make sense out of the stream of sensations barraging him from her touch. When she removed her hand and sat back slightly, covering his hands where they still lay clutching her bare thighs so tightly there would probably be ten finger-shaped indentations, he suspected her distance was because he’d wanted them to pause, to stop, to halt these aching ecclesiastics, but now for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. All he knew was how staggeringly bereft he felt and the metallic taste of dopamine and want in his mouth. 

"I've never heard you swear before," she teased with a gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

"I…um, what?" The neckline of her dress had twisted at some point and he was distracted from her words by the reddening mark he could see to the left of her breastbone. More. There should be more of those. Now, ideally.

Laughing, she took his face in her hands and angled his eyes to meet her own. "Doctor who?"

Narrowing his eyebrows, he stared at her like she'd randomly blurted out the the punch line to a knock-knock joke until the haze induced by his mark on her body ( _his_ mark on _her_ body) lifted and he finally parsed her words.

It was happening. It was all happening so quickly and so slowly: he wanted to sprint to the finish line and meander through the scenic route holding her hand; he wanted to burst into flame and slowly stoke the fire; he wanted her to be his wife and he wanted to thrust himself into her endless warmth. 

The desire to promise her his all won out. Barely. 

Slow path. Every time. 

"We need a witness. Anyone come to mind?" he finally asked, leaning his forehead against hers and attempting to school his breathing. 

She was quiet for a moment, considering, and then bit her lip. He partook in the delicacy as well before breaking away again. "I don't know…how would you feel about Jack? He did so much, and he understands, at least a little, and—"

"Brilliant."

"Brilliant? Really? I thought you'd balk at that suggestion. At least glare a little." Her eyebrows were quirked and he had to chuckle.

"I think he's proven himself enough by now. None of this would have been possible without his help yesterday. Frankly, I'd be pleased to have him as witness."

"I suppose he's not much of a threat if you're the groom, huh?"

He grinned. "Can't deny that."

"I'll call him and ask; hand me my phone?"

"Sure—no, wait. I promised him I'd pick him up five minutes after I dropped him off in Cardiff to explain what happened in Honolulu. If you call him, he'll be in our time stream and I'll be late."

"You've changed so much," she said after a moment, looking him over appraisingly, "sometimes I can't believe it's really you. You're so open and loving and…conscientious." 

"I've always been loving. I've always loved you, it's just the openness that's changed. All these things I can say now, _do_ now… They were always simmering inside. It just took some time to break down their restraints. _You_ did that, Rose. You trumpeted your horn and my walls came tumbling down." He could see moisture pooling in the corner of her eyes and swiftly attempted to lighten the tone. "But conscientious? I don't know about that… But I do have to prove my driving skills now that we have a baby involved, huh?"

"Quite right, too. Now, let's go get Jack so that the honeymoon gets here faster." She tugged his head down by his hair and brushed her lips along his ear. "Because the sooner you're inside me, the better.” Rubbing together her thighs together to emphasise her point, her movements pressed his hands up against her curls. 

And her very, very wet folds. 

The flame reignited just as he'd managed to reduce it to the level of a contained wildfire. "Rose," he groaned, one finger brushing up their seam so lightly he knew it had to be exquisite torture. Good. She deserved it. "Rose, you're…you don't… _Fuck_ I'm glad I didn’t know about your lack of knickers until now."

She shrugged even as she writhed and rolled her hips into his fingers. "It's a white dress and—Doctor!—all my maternity pants show through the fabric."

"Have I even mentioned that white is my favourite colour on you?" 

She sucked in a deep breath and seized his hands away from their teasing, lacing her fingers through his. "Let's go get Jack, yeah?"

Not exactly his favourite name to hear while pushing aside a sleeve of her dress to expose more skin and a fair amount of cleavage, but there were more important matters literally at hand. "I have a better idea," he said distractedly, brushing his hand down to cup her other breast through the fabric. "Sad. I see the bra managed to make the cut."

Rose rolled her eyes but he didn't see it, entranced as he was by a bead of perspiration making its way down the valley between her breasts, only heard it in her words. "No choice in the matter."

Leaning down to follow the droplet, he lapped it up just before it disappeared into the tempting shadows and followed it up by nuzzling his lips under her bra cup to swirl his tongue around the stiff peak inside. 

"As I was saying, better idea. Time machine. If we're lucky, and today it looks as if I'm very, _very_ lucky, we just have to decide to visit Jack after he gets here, tell him to meet us here at this very time with his vortex manipulator, and bam! We don't have to move."

He was well aware that his long monologue sent ripples of vibration through his lips to her nipple with each word and indeed she was arching her back and rutting her hips against him by the time he'd finished. 

"Sound good?" he groaned into her breast, biting down lightly on its pinnacle.

She made a noise that may have been agreement but it was much closer to being a whimper. More resplendent than the strains of the choir issuing forth from the church windows, that sound. Hundreds, thousands more of those sounds were needed.

Her legs wrapped around him again, pulling him so close to her chest that his head was pillowed between her breasts; dual noises of satisfaction rang out. 

Two noises of satisfaction and a dyschronic whoosing sound. 

Rose looked over her shoulder and immediately pulled the Doctor back from his lips' ministrations and hurriedly attempted to adjust her neckline and skirt. He growled at the loss of precious skin and bat away her attempts at her sleeve.

"Jack's here, " she giggled, attempting to close her legs and slide off the marble slab but he held her firmly in place and spread her legs back open. 

"Damn circular paradoxes," the Doctor muttered, sucking hard and biting down just hard enough to create a mark mirroring the first. Her hips spasmed into his and he hissed at the sudden friction. "One more minute. Then we'll take off the rings." He glanced up, maintaining his lips’ vacuum on her skin, and noted the Captain strolling over to a nearby bench and sprawling his legs out in front of him, appearing to wait cheerfully for them to emerge.

Rose hummed in agreement and ran her foot along his backside. "It's weird though, Jack watching us: perceptual cloak or not."

"Perception filter." He began trailing his lips back up to her throat, determined to use that minute to its full advantage. Perhaps he could convince her that time ran slower in this century and stretch it to three minutes…three hours… "He doesn't notice us."

"That's where you're wrong," Jack called out calmly, a lazy grin audible in his words. "Those things don't work on me. Too much psychic training."

Rose froze and the Doctor quickly adjusted her top and spun around to face the defrocked captain, shielding her with his body. "What the hell, Jack?"

"You're the one who told me to meet you here. I’m impressed: best use of a perception filter I've yet to see. Can't believe _I've_ never though of it. Nice work, Doc."

He was ready to kill—well, maim—well, hit with a solid right hook, at least, but Rose hopped off the monument once she was fully covered and ran into Jack's outstretched arms. "Jack!" she cried gleefully. "How long's it been for you?"

"Seasoned time traveller, you are. You last saw me a couple of months ago my time, although I saw _you_ only minutes ago." He squeezed her tight one last time and pulled away to study her. 

"Yeah. Thanks, Jack. The Doctor showed me what you did. You have no idea how grateful I am. We both are."

"Grateful enough to name your baby after me?" he lilted with a wink, glancing down at her protruding belly.

"Well…"

"Absolutely not! Nice try, though," the Doctor chimed in, walking up to them with long strides and wrapping his arm around her waist. He'd taken the opportunity to dampen certain hormones and redirect some blood, leaving him in a much better disposition toward the ex-time agent. His temperature was still running a few degrees above average, but not enough that he couldn't focus on other important things as well. For a little while, anyway. 

"Just putting it out there. So, what do you two kids want me for? You seemed to have things well under control over there, but if you need tips or spotting, you know I'm up for it." Jack waggled his eyebrows and automatically sidestepped out of the Doctor's reach.

The Doctor only grinned however and moved his hand from Rose's waist to settle on the fluttering baby bump. "We need a witness. Rose suggested you and I couldn't think of a better man."

"Witness…" His eyes flickered between the two of them and then to the church to their right. "You mean? No… Wait. By witness, you mean for some sort of crime don't you? Don’t get my hopes up like that…"

The Doctor brushed his thumb over the ripples playing across Rose's tautened abdomen and she covered his hand with hers, nestling closer into his side.

"You had it right the first time."

There was no mistaking the instant that Jack registered that nugget of information because his face split apart in a smile and he almost leapt in the air. A fairly high-pitch squeal erupted behind the captain's lips but his higher regulatory functioning returned shortly thereafter and he cleared his throat and straightened his back. 

"Ready for duty." Jack appeared ready to either march into battle or meet the Queen, but he broke his solemnity not soon after by tilting his head at Rose and whispering "Congratulations!" and doing a little jig with his feet. She laughed and blew him a kiss in response.

With his free hand, the Doctor rummaged through his breast pocket and frowned, evaluating its contents. "I thought for sure I'd have an old ribbon or length of string in here, but I can't—"

"Will this do the trick?" Jack asked and tossed him a skein of the remaining Luciq rope they'd used in Honolulu.

The Doctor blinked at the thinly braided cord before erupting into a grin. "Perfect! Unbreakable rope. No better symbol than that. Allons-y!" 

"How does this work?" Rose asked quietly, her tone suddenly nervous. "I don't know how…is there a pamphlet or a book I should read first? I…"

"There's nothing complicated about it," he reassured her gently, "one of the few things we did without pomp and circumstance. There's some ceremonial words, which I'll have you repeat when it's time, and then Jack winds the rope around our hands, symbolically joining us to one another for the rest of our days."

It wasn't strictly the whole truth: of course the Time Lords had instigated their own type of matrimonial ceremony, a brief and utilitarian affair comprising of only a few scripted words, although marriage wouldn't be the best term to describe its purpose. Despite its mainstream use by the end of their reign, it was rooted in ceremonies binding political alliances rather than sacraments of love and commitment. It was a stripped down and cannibalised version of the older Gallifreyan nuptials, not even allowing the woman the chance to assent or speak, and it certainly didn't imply forever. There was nothing he wanted less. 

She nodded and he turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. Jack moved closer, standing in the middle and perpendicular to the bride and bridegroom. 

Rose turned green and gagged. 

The Doctor froze, horrified in every possible way at her reaction. He'd moved too fast; he was pressuring her; she didn't want to chain herself to a foolish old alien and was just being kind; he was now also feeling ill at doing this to her, she— She was feeling sick because of Jack's proximity. 

With a sigh of relief so deep he almost deflated like a balloon to the grass, he rescued one of the hands he'd dropped and tugged her further away from the ex-time agent. "Stay there for a moment, Jack."

One more thing to which he'd been blind.

"It's Jack, the baby is sensitive to part of his physiology because of his developing time sense and is passing the queasiness along to you… I'll explain later, I promise, but Rose, did you just start feeling sick now?"

She nodded, her lips tightly pressed together and sweat beading on her forehead. 

"Me too…The TARDIS should be buffering it…" he muttered to himself. His ship must have been protecting her on Jack's previous visit just like she'd been buffering the effects of Jack's fixed timelines on his own time sense. Even in Honolulu, neither he nor his younger self had felt any negative effects of Jack's presence, so he knew his ship could shield them at long-range. And even now, neither of them had felt ill until a few seconds ago: why had the TARDIS suddenly cut out her protective support?

Closing his eyes, he attempted to communicate with his constant companion telepathically but only received an image of the blue box with a small circle drawn around her perimeter. Confused, he implored her again to widen the range, questioning why it had suddenly diminished: there was no way they had to be within that tiny circle for her effects to work. 

_"Come closer."_

It took him a second but when he understood what she wanted he laughed and turned to his bride. "I think the old girl wants to be part of the ceremony; she's always had a thing for you. I'd say I have no idea why, but that would be a lie. Shall we move nearer to her?"

As soon as he'd finished speaking, his nausea diminished and he saw the proper colour return to Rose's cheeks. "Yeah, 'course: how could we forget about her?" 

Sending an affectionate and grateful wave of emotion to his ship, he ran his fingers along the kicking baby's den. "Sorry little one. I should have known."

"Why would he be so sensitive to Jack? Wait, Jack makes you feel ill too? That actually explains a lot…"

"Er, only since he came back. I can't absolve all my crabbiness toward him on that, I'm afraid. Only had pure and simple jealousy to blame back then."

She smiled at his confession and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I had my own spurts of jealousy too, so we're even."

"Ooh, really? When?" He was possibly a little _too_ pleased to hear this news.

"Shut up." She twisted her fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck and buried her face in his shoulder in embarrassment.

"Really? In my last body?" If he'd only been privy to this piece of information back then… That incarnation wouldn't have hesitated to shag her against the closest wall if he'd known his feelings had been reciprocated.

"I can feel you puffing up, Doctor. Stop preening; you know I fancied you back then."

"I can honestly say I had no idea, Rose." He lifted her chin and kissed her. "Don't worry," he murmured against her lips, "I was full-out besotted with you back then. Still am, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He moved his hands up from where they had been planted on her hips to rest on her shoulders. "And now I want to marry you."

"How do you feel about kids?" She was trying for flippancy but her voice was too unsteady to convince anyone. 

"Love them," he whispered, kissing her softly. "The sooner the better."

She burst into tears; he burst into laughter and pulled her close. "Now _there's_ the sobbing bride. And in a white dress too. Couldn't be more perfect."

Tucking her into his side, he led her up the stony aisle leading to where the TARDIS was tucked into the church courtyard. Jack was already there, clearly putting the pieces together faster than he had. Or, from the smug gloat his ship was projecting, perhaps she and Jack were closer than he'd imagined: cheeky girl... He vaguely attempted an eye roll toward the ship's exterior but couldn't fashion his face into anything but an infatuated grin: he was marrying the love of his lives today.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: Please see [here](http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/cleanerOCHchap24) for a non-explicit (but probably still adult) version.

The north wind died down and the sun lifted its cloudy veil; the ageless winter has passed and midsummer hovered on the horizon, swollen in its fecundity. The ancient Time Lord and his betrothed stood facing each other under the shadow of a sempiternal blue box, their Captain and greatest cheerleader presiding. 

She wore white; he wore pinstripes and effervescence. 

The Doctor spoke the ancient Gallifryean rites first in his native tongue and then into their closest English equivalents, his voice steady and low and the words mesmeric in their rhythm. 

_“Who am I, that thou should consent to stand at my side for all eternity? That the suns may fall from the sky and the stars begin to run like rain on glass but thy love remains unchanged?_

_Who art thou, that my impermanent bodies should cling to for all eternity? That my bones shall change and my mind shall change but my soul shall have thee etched upon it forever?_

_I am thy beloved and thou art mine.”_

The words flowed out of his lips as if they'd been lying in wait all his life. Perhaps they had been. His beloved and their child: however fantastical and impossible it may feel, it was real, it was solid, it was engulfing his entire being in its light. Had he ever been weary? Dark and encumbered? He couldn't even imagine the existence of those feelings. Last of the Time Lords no more, he was now the first: the herald of his species' renaissance; the first husband; a founding member of the first family.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Off _them_. The universe was relinquishing its burden and distilling into her irises. 

But then, she'd always carried the stars in her eyes. 

He cleared his throat before moving into the declarations. _“Dost thou accept the mantle of my love, to wear until the end of time?”_

Rose nodded between tears, afraid to blink and wake up from a dream. “I do," she whispered around a grin. "Yeah? Or do I say something else?"

"Any form of assent is good enough for me," he replied softly, so much warmth effusing out of his eyes that she would never need a winter coat again. She nodded again, her lower lip shaking precariously, and lengthy minutes were pressed into a millisecond as they remained wordlessly and worldlessly wrapped up in each other.

They both startled when a soft cough barraged their ears. Jack. Rose finally broke eye contact and giggled, biting her lip and smiling in apology at their patient friend. The Doctor only shifted his attention as far as her mouth.

_“Dost thou consent and gladly give thy mantle of love, that it should shield and defend me past the end of time?”_

“Yes,” she just barely managed to squeeze out of her closing throat.

_“These knots are a symbol of the entangling of our time lines: yesterday, today, and forever more. We are one another’s past, present, and future: as that is, all that was, all that ever shall be.”_

Raising one of her palms to his mouth and kissing it, he reached into his pocket and began winding the rope around their two clasped hands. The Luciq rope was thin and silken and he took no chances of the knot untangling, weaving it between their fingers and around their wrists until Houdini himself would have been baffled. 

He tossed the sonic screwdriver over to Jack. "Setting 143d," he whispered, gesturing toward the two loose ends in his hands. Neither the Doctor nor Rose, even entranced as they were with one another, failed to miss the subtle trembling of the Captain's fingers; Rose met his eye and used her free hand to squeeze his arm. 

As Jack melted and melded the frayed ends, the Doctor spoke the final liturgy. 

_“My love’s hand is bound to mine. As are the ends of the rope soldered together, so may we begin our enrapt days with my fingers in thine and benediction in our hearts.”_

The crickets were silenced and the birds held back their warbling. The Doctor moved his lips to her ear, voicing the name he'd almost forgotten in linguistic form but was seared into his genetic code. 

Less than a second elapsed between the first and last syllable, shorter than his cool breath on her neck, but it contained much, much more than a single word in any other tongue could ever express. Not a word at all, in the traditional sense: his name was more of a pure tone that sang of his entire history. Darkness sagging with the weight of emptiness, gilded fortress walls and lonely crowds, inequity and non-interference, a tiny glimpse of swinging starlight breaking through the blackness of the night. His name was layers upon layers of emotions, ringing out and echoing back in an interminable vibrato circle. 

She could see him as a shivering child, huddled out in the cold; the trembling initiate at the Untempered Schism; the defiant adolescent clutching at the unraveling seams of his public persona; the new father, terrified how his infant daughter wrapped her fingers and timeline simultaneously around his thumb and made him _want_ to abandon all hope of searching the stars; eyes squeezed shut in futile prayer while his single finger pressed a red flower-shaped button.

Rose saw her slouching first Doctor, muscles limp with regret and chest tight with rejection as he closed the TARDIS door; his sinking to the grating, head in hands; his almost-but-not-completely smothered flicker of hope, a tiny ember in the predatory darkness; the way he stitched his mind together for what was sure to be the last time; flinging his hearts into the London night.

_By the way, did I mention it also travels in time?_

The rest of his name's story was categorically different. Lightness began to pervade every emotion, dawn conquering his darkest hour. The feeling of her hand, warm in his; _Better with two_ ; her own eyes, burning with liquid gold; her hand once again in his, changed but in every single way exactly the same; _I want him too_ ; a cresting sun; _Father_ ; _Ours_ ; _Wife_ ; noon-day glare; _Yes_ ; blinding white light.

The peal of his soul tapered off but a new song took its place as the words from a single child soprano inside the church took flight. The notes hung upon the air before hurling forth, gliding, sweeping, rebuffing the breeze in its descent. 

_For the beauty of each hour_  
Of the day and of the night,  
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,  
Sun and moon and stars of light,  
Lord of all, to thee we raise  
This our joyful hymn of praise. 

“Doctor…” she breathed. The air was thick, her heart was crushed and bursting at the same time, and even though they were touching only where they were tied together, she felt as if she'd been welded to his hearts. It wasn’t a dream: she was married and she was married to her Time Lord, and he was finally, well and truly, completely _hers_. 

“Time Lord technology,” he explained hoarsely, “our names were bigger on the inside.”

“No kidding…”

“Too much?”

“Never enough.”

“Good. Sharing that burden…it doesn't double its weight… It halves it,” he choked out in wonder before kissing her, pulling her close by their knotted joining while his other hand couldn’t touch enough of her. It fisted in the material at the small of her back before moving to press into the curls at the nape of her neck, the bare skin where the dress dipped between her shoulder blades. The kiss itself was gentle, chaste even, but as his hand continued to scout out the locations that would bring her nearer, the hormones simmering just under the surface crackled into an inferno and he broke his lips away from hers before they could begin consuming the entire world. 

One arm still looped around her waist, he rested his forehead on hers for only a moment before turning to Jack. 

Jack, who had more tears streaming down his face then Rose. 

“That was beautiful," the Captain said, "I'm so glad I got to be a part of it. I’m so happy for you both. I…” 

“Thanks, Jack,” Rose jumped in to save his blubbering, “you being here means a lot. To…us.” She turned back to the Doctor with a shy but infinitely pleased smile. “Us. That’s new. I like that.”

“Me too.” He brushed a finger along her lower lip, lost in thought for a moment. “ _Us_ is my new favourite word. Well…”

She suddenly looked a little shifty and squirmed a little in his arms. “Doctor, I need, um…”

“What is it? Rose? Is there something…"

“No, I…I _really_ need to wee…” She bit her lip against a string of giggles but failed. “Sorry. That’s, like, the least romantic thing I could have said, but, your son is pressing on my bladder, and—”

“On the contrary,” he laughed and then turned slightly more somber, “ _'your son'_ is one of the most romantic phrases I could ever hear from your lips.”

“Is that so,” she smirked, moving closer and planting a slow kiss on the side of his mouth. 

“Yes…” he half-moaned, barely managing to stave off rocking his hips into hers to show her exactly how he felt about her phraseology. 

“Well, why don’t I remind you, then, how _your son_ is doing some form of waltz against my internal organs,” she drawled, “and that I should probably get to a loo quickly before I have to pretend my water broke early?”

“Well, Mrs. Tyler—no, strike that. I will _never_ call you that again.” She laughed as he frantically bat away images of Jackie Tyler in his mind’s eye. “Let me carry you across the threshold, my lady and wife, so that you may partake of the facilities.” His words were over-enunciated and he gestured grandly at his ship, smiling internally at the wave of pride he felt from her corner of his hearts. 

She glanced warily at the width of the TARDIS door but then shrugged with a slow smile. “ _Thank_ you, Sir Doctor.” 

Sweeping her into his arms with only a minimal amount of literal arm-twisting (bound hands were not ideal for bridal carries and he wondered briefly at the irony), he transported her with ease through the double doors, both unfurled for the first time in many years. Since they burst open to allow her first entrance to his ship, actually… 

Depositing her on the grating, he kissed her again as her legs slid down his body to the floor. “I suppose we should untie this rope now?” 

She looked down at their hands. "Please. I'm not sure I'm ready to have you watch me wee yet. Let's keep the magic alive a little longer, shall we?"

"If you insist. I have no problem tying you to my side forever, for the record. Imagine how many instances of wandering off this could cure."

"If I hadn't wandered off in Honolulu, where would we be, huh?" 

There was that tongue-tipped smile. He forgot what they were discussing.

"Doctor."

"Mmm?" 

"Toilet. Increasing urgency."

He patted his pockets but come up with no sonic sc—Oh. Jack. 

Opening the door again, he peered out at the Captain, leaning against the TARDIS with his legs crossed and a smirk on his face. 

“Forget me again?” 

“Er. Yes. Sorry. Can I just—"

“Oh, you wanted this back?" Jack twirled the screwdriver in the air, catching it deftly and spinning in between his fingers before tossing it to the Doctor. "Here you go. Now go on: I'll give you one last pardon on explaining all this for the moment, especially that 'your son' comment, but only because I fully endorse you guys doing what you're itching to do. Not sure why you're still talking to me, actually."

"Jack," the Doctor warned but didn't bother trying to stave back the lopsided grip rising up his lips.

"See you soon, Jack, love you," Rose called out from inside the doors, running a nail lightly up the Doctor's arm and smiling at the shudder that rocked through his torso.

"Right. Gotta go, Jack."

"See you very soon, Doctor. I mean it. I still need that explanation. Love you too, Rosie!" He tapped a long string of coordinates into the vortex manipulator on his wrist and saluted as he disappeared.

Sonic back in hand, the Doctor quickly cut through the rope at its weak point and carefully wound up the ends into a neat bundle as Rose gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and dashed down the hall. 

\--

“Anything else we need that rope for? Something ceremonial in the bedroom, perhaps?” she joked when she returned and he was twisting the length of cord in his hands but raised her eyebrows at the look of horror in his eyes.

“Absolutely not! This rope is sacred: we have to fashion it into a knotted circle and hang it above our front door. A reminder of our fortune.”

She stopped. “Oh. That’s…lovely actually. You lot weren’t all that alien, really: that sounds like something we might do on Earth in certain cultures.” 

“I’m very alien, Rose Tyler. Very, very alien. Let me show you just how _alien_ I can be,” he lilted seductively, prowling toward her.

“Mmm…wait.” She ran her eyes up him appraisingly. “How…alien are we talking here? Is this something we should talk about first?”

“No,” he groaned, “that was one of the worst lines in history wasn’t it?” 

She laughed and twined her fingers through his hair again. “Not at bad as you might think. But you’re just lucky that I find most things you say sexy…”

“Really?”

“Mmm…” she affirmed, lowering her lips to his neck and sucking gently. 

"What if I said…integrated non-linear cantilevered living buttress?"

Her hum of agreement vibrated against where her lips were latched to the seam of his neck and shoulder. 

"And…temporal oscillator?"

"Oh yeah. It's definitely everything you say." He dug his fingers into her hipbone as she added her tongue to the party, pulling her flush against his body. 

"Mucus? Dysentery? Slitheen?" 

Lifting her mouth off his throat, she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Really? Is this the game you want to play right now?"

By the time her eyebrow lowered to its customary position, she was in his arms again. "Nope. Always with the right questions, you are." She giggled and he captured the escaping joy with his lips. 

"I have one more, but I don't think you'll like it quite as much.”

“Ask me anything: I’m on fire!”

“What about Jack?"

" _There's_ a distinctly unsexy word."

"I don't know about that," she teased as she toyed with a sideburn, smirking at his look of indignation, "but what about him? Don't we need to tell him to meet us in the churchyard? You know, earlier?"

"Damn. I'm feeling very ambivalent about circular paradoxes today." He returned her feet to the floor but kept his arm around her waist as he moved around the console. "Pull that lever for me?"

"This one?" she asked sweetly while running her fingertip down its length and circling the tip. 

He growled and barely managed to complete the landing sequence before burying his face into her neck and lifting her to sit on the edge of the console panel. Re-thinking his preference for tight-fitting trousers, he pressed himself against her knee as he bit down harder than he'd perhaps intended on her skin. She only moaned in response and parted her legs to bring him closer. 

"Or we could get him a little later," she recanted brokenly, her fingers twisting and tugging at his hair. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back and painfully adjusted his trousers. "No, no. I don't want either of us to have our friend the Captain anywhere near our thoughts."

She laughed and slid off the console, running her hands down his sides. His wife was the definition of disheveled: moss-stained white dress, wild hair, glassy eyes, and he found himself calculating optimal angles and positionings on the console before taking a deep breath to steel himself.

Jack. Right. Greatest supporter, perhaps, but also the Doctor's greatest cockblocker. After himself, of course. 

In less than a minute both those barriers would be eliminated. 

Snatching a pad of post-it notes from under the panel, he scribbled down the necessary time and space coordinates and almost tore the note off the pad. "Thirty seconds." He reconsidered, raking his eyes up her child-swollen body. Their child. His wife. "Fifteen seconds."

Opening the door, he was only about a yard from where he'd dropped off the ex-Time Agent the previous day right after Honolulu. Never underestimate the flying prowess of a Time Lord with sufficient motivation. 

Jack had his back to the TARDIS so he jumped slightly when the Doctor wordlessly pressed the paper into his hands and swiftly stepped back inside. 

"Oh, and Jack?” he called out. “Don't watch too long, yeah?"

Jack's face crinkled in confusion but he nodded with a chuckle. "Yes, sir."

"Good man. And thank you; I mean it." And then the door was closed and then he was alone with his beloved and then he felt every extraneous thought process shuddered to a halt. She was leaning back against the console, eyeing him with a curious combination of hunger and incredulity, and he experienced a feeling of mild disembodiment as he crossed the room with long strides to chant his credence. 

"I love you," he said, his voice full of awe but without question.

"I love you, too," she whispered back. She took his proffered hand and stared at the fine lines, twisting his hand in her fingers to explore every ridge, every crease, every arch and loop and whorl, every angle of his newly genuine wedding ring. He was quiet as she travelled his fingers and the hum of the TARDIS dimmed and there was nothing left in the universe except the sensory neurons transmitting the feeling of her skin on his. 

"This is real, isn’t it... It's like I have two lives, laid atop each other: one where I'm married and have a house and a kid and I'm so happy…and another where I'm dancing through the stars and laughing with my best friend… They shouldn't both be possible and yet here we are… No one in the universe is as lucky as I am."

"Except me," he said with soft reverence. "I'm the winner here. Time Lord Victorious. And Rose? It's so real." Threading his fingers through his, he pulled her to standing. "Come with me?" 

She nodded mutely and he led her out of the console room. Words were neither necessary nor sufficient as they walked through the little-used halls leading to his bedroom. He vaguely wondered about the state of his unused room but couldn't be bothered to worry about it. And indeed, as he gripped her hand tighter and pushed open the door, he had to send a telepathic wave of gratitude to the TARDIS. 

All his half-abandoned projects and various clutter were absent and the bed in the centre of the room was neatly made. What was more, his constant companion had seen fit to include a line of lit candles silhouetted against his simulated window; the scene was set to a sherbet and gold sunset, bathing the room in a flickering glow. 

He heard her suck in a breath and took both her hands in his shaking ones. "Rose…We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, I…"

Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, kneading his tense lips until they were pliant and responsive to hers. "I want," she intoned into his open mouth. 

Slowly, deliberately he swept his hands up the outside of her thighs, bunching up the skirt of her dress between his fingers. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he continued to drag the material up her waist, his knuckles grazing her skin with a feather-light touch. With perfect synchrony, she lifted her arms over her head so he could slip it off; he let it fall unheeded from his fingers as he met her half-lidded gaze. 

She reached back to unclasp her bra but he stopped her, closing a hand over her arm. "Let me?"

Twisting so that her back was facing him, she lifted her hair up from the nape of her neck and turned her head to watch him. Raking his fingers up her sides, he pressed his lips to a particularly tempting patch of skin above her shoulder blade as he released one clasp, then the next. The garment fell to the floor and she was fully exposed to him: his golden goddess, his graven image and hallowed shrine.

Staving off the urge to move in front of her so he could gaze at her naked body in all its glory, he instead smiled against the raised goosebumps under his tongue as he trailed his hands around to her front and lightly cupped her breasts, still slightly slippery from the day's sun (and, he hoped, from his touch). His thumbs brushed along their stiff peaks, spiraling from base to apex. She moaned, dropping her hair to curtain across his face as she moved her hands to cover his. 

He tasted salt in her skin and inhaled the scent of her hair: fruity shampoo and pheromones. She smelled of stardust and freedom, of beginnings and eternities, of home and comfort. And beneath all that, she was redolent with her body’s preparations for new life, of his son and his newest forever. 

He relinquished his lips from her skin but his breath was still hot on her skin as she arched back against him. "Your turn," Rose gasped out as he rolled a hardened peak between his fingertips, momentarily forgetting her petition as a jot of heat tore through her body and pooled between her legs. His arousal was palpable in his sudden tensing, in the way he clamped his fingers down a little too hard for a second as he rolled his hips into her backside. The feel of him pressing against her from behind rendered her knee muscles useless and he barely managed to steady her as she swayed backward.

“Bed?” he forced out between ragged breaths.

She wriggled in his arms until she was facing him, no easy task with his hands unwilling to renounce their claim on her breasts. On the other hand, now they were situated in eyesight and he could see what he’d only been able to feel: the dusky peaks, puckered and stiff even without his fingers’ ministrations; the swell of the mountain tops they hailed from; the droplet of perspiration sliding between her breastbone. 

“Not until I unwrap you,” she said resolutely, tugging at the knot on his tie with a look of intense concentration on her face. 

Bowing his head in surrender (and for a better view of those mesmeric nipples, still taut and just barely grazing against his shirt whenever she took a breath), he let his hands drop to his sides, palms open and arms slightly away from his sides. The tie was defeated; the shirt buttons rolled over in submission; the shirttails were untucked, and his upper garments slid off his arms with little more than their own volition. 

“I fully approve that those undershirts have disappeared,” she murmured.

“I gave them up.”

For a split second, they were separate entities as she stood back and raked her eyes across his chest, but it was too long, too long coming, and he pulled her back to him with a hand on her back and the other behind her head. The both groaned at the feel of her stiff peaks pressed against bare flesh, of her distended abdomen sliding against the sensitive skin of his pelvis. 

She snaked her hands between them to unbuckle his trousers, not playing or toying this time but unhesitatingly slipping the button through its hole and carefully sliding down the zipper. Hissing through his teeth, he struggled to keep the whimper in this throat from escaping as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled both items of clothing gingerly over his aching erection, letting them fall to his feet. He kicked them off along with his shoes while chasing her lips, his cries stifled into her mouth when she softly encircled him with her hand. Thickening even further, throbbing and insistent, his hips seemed to move of their own accord, rocking himself into her hand as she give an experimental stroke. 

“Rose…” he groaned, pulling her hand away she began to explore his anatomy with light touch, her fingers gliding against the tip and spreading the pre-come up toward the base. 

“Mmm?” she answered with a smirk. 

She was far too collected for his liking, especially as he stood there reciting star names in alphabetical order to prevent ending it all before it had barely begun. He wanted her liquefied in his arms, he wanted to chart a detailed map of her body's soft plains by taste, he wanted her writhing before he even slid into her heat. He wanted her one-tenth as undone as he was feeling.

He walked her backward toward the bed, guiding her to sit on the edge and grabbing several pillows to prop behind her back, all without removing his lips from hers. Dropping to his knees and nudging open her legs, he kissed his way down the curves and angles of her body, sucking and sampling the pulse point on her throat, the crook of her neck, the inside of her elbow, each fingertip. 

Tongue-drawn Circular Gallifreyan promises were drawn around her aureoles, sonnets were written in the translucent skin below her navel, a treatise on how long he’d longed for this very moment composed in a tight spiral around each pelvic bone. Her hand was tightly gripping his hair and he committed to memory every movement that caused her to dig her nails into his scalp. 

At the juncture of her thighs, he stopped shock-still, the intoxicating smell of her arousal too overwhelming to bypass as he’d intended for the uncharted lands of her legs. She was his siren, his temptation and his downfall, and he snapped the cords of restraint without regret. 

He raised his eyes to her, rendered breathless at her thrown-back head, the lip between her teeth, the suppressed moans overthrowing their half-hearted overlord. 

More. More moans...he needed to eke out more.

Hitching an arm under one leg, he lowered his mouth to her patch of glistening curls, reveling in the way her thigh muscles tightened and squirmed when he traced the outer folds with the tip of his tongue. She was radiating heat and he hurled himself into the flames. Her moans turned to groans as he added his fingers to the action, tracing the inner lips lining her slick entrance before dipping inside. Closing his eyes, he explored her blind, the heightened sensations of her flesh in his mouth necessitating an insistent rut against the side of the bed for all-too-brief relief. 

He still hadn’t touched the sensitive bundle of nerves she was pleading for, grinding against the finger inside her and attempting to angle herself so that his teasing tongue would hit the right spot. Laughing, his lips buzzing against her folds, he glanced up at her behind hooded eyes to see her fall back against the pillows and thrust herself against his lips.

Stilling her hips with his other hand, he waited until she had just about given up before flattening his tongue and lapping at her clit with hard, long strokes. The increased blood circulation to these areas of her sex from pregnancy would have resulted in heightened sensitivity and he knew very little stimulation was needed to set her alight.

Her hands dropped from his hair to grip his ears, likely to keep him in the right spot, but he fleetingly wondered if she was thinking of his previous body and those rather prominent ears. The notion shot a bolt of dizzying need straight to his cock and he quickened his pace, sweeping his tongue against her bud while he added a second finger and began pumping them inside her. 

Her wetness coated his tongue and he could feel more being released around his fingers. She whimpered and tightened her grip on his ears.

“Doctor, please!” 

He slowed his pace despite the tenuous nature of his self-control. “Please what?” he baited while continuing to feast on her engorged clit, taking it between his teeth and flicking his tongue against it. Her walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers; he curled his fingers up against the patch of ribbed tissue. 

She didn’t answer, at least not in words. Her hips arched up and she fisted up the silken bronze bedcovers. Inarticulate noises gurgled from her throat but cut off all at once when he removed his fingers and thrust into her with only his tongue. 

Her inner muscles clamped down before pulsating rhythmically around his eager tongue, her hips bucking against his face before shuddering and collapsing back onto the bed, boneless. He worked her gently through the aftershocks before kissing the top of her mons and rising back up on his knees to find her lips. 

Teeth clacked together as she responded fervently, biting and sucking on his lips as if starved. In this position, his cock was trapped between their abdomens, its underside slipping between her folds and causing her to jump from sensitivity before rolling her hips against him. He pulled back from her mouth with a sticky pop, pressing his forehead to hers and clenching his jaw. From this position he could see her skin rubbing against the epicenter of his need framed between her breasts and he bit back a groan. 

She reached between them to run her thumb along the length of him and he bucked into her hand, the moan unavoidable. “Rose…” he panted. 

She nipped at his lips quickly and wiped her juices off the sides of mouth with her thumb. “Not that I’m complaining, really, that was…wow. But let’s consummate this marriage, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he rumbled in response but didn’t move. 

“We do things in such an odd order…" she mused, stroking his hair. "I moved in with you, and then I’m pregnant with your baby… We share a bed and _then_ you marry me. After we’ve already told my mother we’re married. And we haven’t even shagged yet.”

“Time’s not linear with a Time Lord. But this, us…it’s a little unusual, I’ll grant you.”

“In a good way.”

“In the best way. I…with you, Rose, I would lead my whole life in reverse. I could meet you all over again, feel your hand in mine for the first time a million times. As long as we could move backwards together.”

He felt a shuddering breath before she replied. “Same. But right now let's move forward. We can go back so I can snog your last body another time.”

“Rose Tyler! I’m…surprisingly turned on by that, actually…” He grinned at her and she returned it immediately.

“Thought you might be.” She pushed aside the pillows and crawled backward on the bed, reclining back onto her elbows. “Now come here.”

When he didn’t follow immediately, instead tugging at his ear and flickering his eyes between her and the pillows, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Um, it’s just that…you shouldn’t lay on your back. In this stage of pregnancy. The weight of the baby can press against your posterior vena cava and reduce cardiac output and you could get dizzy and cut off oxygen to—”

She sat up, hand on belly, and crawled toward the babbling Time Lord. “Okay,” she interrupted and pressed her lips to his. “I’m sure you can find another way to make me dizzy.”

“Oh, yes,” he drawled and pulled her close. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

One hand firmly around her waist and palming the baby bump, he gathered the pillows up again (the TARDIS was complicit in all this, as usual: he was _sure_ he didn’t usually have sixteen pillows of different shapes and sizes on this bed…) and created her a nest to lean back against. Clicking his tongue and nodding with satisfaction, he pulled her to the edge of the bed again and shifted her legs so that her feet were flat on the floor. 

Propping herself up on her forearms, she met his half-lidded stare with one of her own as he knelt between her knees. She felt the simmering heat flare up full-force as he took himself in hand and rubbed against her folds, testing how ready she was with a single digit.

“You’re still so wet for me…” he muttered in amazement, positioning himself at her entrance. The knot in her belly tightened as the tip of his head slipped inside but he didn’t push any further, only squeezed his eyes closed and breathed through flared nostrils. 

“Doctor,” she pleaded in a croaked voice. “Please. I need you. Inside.”

His eyes fluttered open and he pressed his fingers into her hips. She keened in response and he kissed her hungrily, short nips interspersed with messy tongue thrusts. Arching up against him, she tried to move things along but he steadied her movements gently.

“It might be a tighter fit that you’re used to, the—”

“Oh, god Doctor, just…”

This time he cut _her_ off when he plunged forward, burying himself inside her in one smooth stroke. 

“Fuck!” she gasped, falling back against the pillows and sucking in deep breaths through gritted teeth. It was good, it was very, very good, but he’d been right: she was stretched to the hilt and more full than she’d ever experienced. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was met with the Doctor gazing at her, concern dueling with rapture. 

“Good, it’s…good, just give me a minute,” she panted out and he took her hand to squeeze it.

“Blood supply…to your internal walls…pregnancy…engorges them…less space… _Fuck,_ Rose, you feel incredible..…” 

The white light around her peripheral vision began to taper away and she rolled her hips, first experimentally and then with renewed urgency. He slowly withdrew before pressing back inside, more cautiously this time, and she writhed against him in frustration. Apparently satisfied she wasn’t uncomfortable ( _that_ was an understatement), he finally began to move in earnest, pumping into her with long strokes that left her half-feverish with greed for more. Faster. Deeper. Harder.

She lifted her leg to wrap around his waist, changing the angle and drawing him deeper inside, but hastily dropped it back down to the floor with a tiny whimper of pain. He froze. 

“Rose? What is it? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s just…um, maybe more shallow?”

Leaning forward, he lowered his mouth over her left breast, sucking lightly on its swell as he changed his thrusts to shorter, quicker strokes. 

“Better?” The word, uttered around her pregnancy-sensitised nipple, caused her hips to spasm and her walls to contract around him. He groaned at the sensation and she grabbed him by the hair to tug him up for a kiss.

“Wonderful,” she moaned into his mouth. Every descent into her heat was heaven, each withdrawal a bittersweet loss; she wanted it to last forever and she needed that tantalising, taunting release that beckoned just over each hill and dale and she wanted him, only him, entire and whole and forever. 

"Wanted this for so long. You. Us," he panted out between strokes. 

His threads began to fray, then, and she could feel his rhythm falter. His pistoning became erratic, his thrusts taking on a desperate, almost feral quality, and she gripped the edge of the mattress for purchase. 

“Still okay?” he ground out, his face contorted in an effort not to lose control completely. 

“Faster,” she barely managed to cry out, “please, Doctor!”

He began to chant out words, low and unintelligible and in time with his hips’ zealous pounding: she assumed they were in another language until the syllables deciphered themselves through the white noise in her ears. 

“I—love—you—I—love—you—I—love—you—I—love—”

His hands were raking up and down her leg now, scrambling for more—more input, more skin, more sensation, more more more. She was his wife, the mother of his child, the savior of his soul and he couldn’t get enough of her. The urge to close his eyes against the maelstrom of emotions and sensations was strong, but far stronger was the desire to never blink again, to collect and store every millisecond of this precious act. His. Hers. Theirs. 

“Forever.” 

Her ragged word, husky with need was his undoing. As balls tightened and his cock thickened for its finale, he frantically moved his fingers to where they were joined to hasten her release.

“Please, Rose, I can’t…I need…”

He felt her begin to flutter around him and he let go: finally, completely, with a guttural grunt and a flash of white light. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Rose, thank you,” he repeated as his cock pulsated inside her, emptying himself with a baring of his teeth and a shudder of relief. 

She came hard around him, her muscles convulsing and mouth clamped shut. He only managed a quick glimpse of her face, thrown back and euphoric before collapsing his head onto her chest as she continued to milk every last drop of fluid from his softening cock. Falling back onto his heals, she moved with him so that she was sitting upright as he remained buried, supplicant in her breasts.

When his legs wobbled, almost pulling them both onto the carpet, she steadied him (didn't she always?) and pulled him up onto the bed beside her. Still breathing heavily, he gathered her into his arms and nestled her into his side before falling flat on his back. Sweat-soaked skin, tiny tremors, his fluids seeping out between her thighs and onto his leg where she was draped across him…everything was a bit…hazy. When he closed his eyes her felt like he was still slingshotting, sailing through the stars: he was, he always was. But now his first mate was his wife, his epicenter, his third heart carrying his fourth and fifth; his chest was brimming and he wanted nothing more than to drop anchor. 

Rubbing the side of her knee against his legs, she hummed contentedly and brushed a finger lethargically along his ribcage. "That was…amazing."

"Mmm…" he agreed with a squeak, the second curtain rising with a vengeance. That wouldn't do. With the hand that wasn't under her back he apprehended her burrowing leg and held it still, distracting her from his purpose by lightly squeezing her knee and causing her to squeal. 

"Are you okay? You seem…tense or something," she asked after a minute.

"Nope! Content and satisfied and spent and sated and—"

Not taken in by his rambling, his wife's hand shot down to his groin before he could stop her, freezing at the significantly-greater-than-half-mast erection she discovered therein. 

"But you…" She narrowed her eyebrows and he reached over to kiss their indents on her forehead. 

"Time Lord…orgasms come in pairs. Increases the chance of concept—" He faltered his desperately scientific speech when she issued a firm stroke from base to tip. "Ah, fu—Rose, it's okay. It'll go away on its own."

"Well what's the fun in that?" Before he could protest, she'd sat up and straddled him. "I imagine this is a safe position for pregnancy, yeah?" From the gleam in her eyes, he knew she was perfectly confident in the answer. 

"Rose," he whimpered manfully as she positioned herself above his straining cock and slowly began to lower herself, her hands planted on his chest for support. 

"Trust me, this is _not_ an imposition. In fact," she forced out between quick, shallow breaths, "that I'm excited about this aspect of your alien anatomy would be an understatement. Might have been more excited about this 'superior physiology' you're always going on about had I known…"

He groaned in response. 

She sunk down completely, fully seated at last. 

He groaned again, gripping her hips. 

She burst into laughter. 

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," she giggled, "but I need the toilet. Sorry, sorry!"

Rising back up on her knees, almost falling off the bed if he hadn't dazedly caught her by the waist, she moaned at the loss and he echoed it back. Once she'd scrambled over him and her feet were on the floor, she gave him a quick kiss and brushed back his sticky hair from his eyes. 

"But when I get back, we're continuing this, Time Lord."

He soaked in the view of his other half waddling to the ensuite, naked and resplendent and winking at him before disappearing through the door. No doubt about it: that which he'd searched the stars unknowing had been found.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: See [here](http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/cleanerOCHchap25) for a non-explicit version.

He’d drawn her sleep-laden limbs to tangle with his own, he’d buried his nose in the redolence at the nape of her neck, he’d kissed her forehead just as his eyes drifted closed. And now he was waking, sedate and indolent and basking in the impossible sunlight streaming in through the simulated window, to her soft breath on his fingers where he’d held her close through the night. Her dream-logged eyes blinked open before closing again with a contented smile when she saw him watching her. He kissed her eyelids with a feather-light touch and she hummed, burrowing her face further into the crook of his shoulder.

It was still true: he would give up all of time and space to keep this. But as it had turned out, he didn’t need to; he had everything he’d been searching the stars for his whole life, blind and aimless, and it was all contained within a human girl. 

His wife. Their son. His all.

He closed his eyes again, gathering them more tightly into his arms.

\---

When she next opened her eyes, he was asleep. All the lines on his face were smoothed and he was close enough that she could trace constellations in his freckles with her eyes. Rose may not have known much about Greek mythology, but she was certain that if there was a god of homecoming, his shape was spread across the Doctor's cheekbones. 

As if he could read her thoughts ( _and he probably could; any protective barrier in her mind was bound to be flung open and trumpets resounding a triumphant entry march_ ), he mumbled without opening his eyes. “I love you.”

“Ditto.” 

As if on cue, the baby began his morning calisthenics. A tiny nudge at the corner of her mind, a flutter of innocence and enquiry, dropped a few puzzle pieces into place. 

“That’s not you, is it? It’s the baby…” she breathed, pulling back slightly from his embrace in shock.

“Hmm?” He pulled her back.

“Is the baby…telepathic too? Like you?”

He opened his eyes and brushed aside the strands of hair that had curtained over her face. “Yeah. Do you feel him?”

“I think so…there's something kinda…tapping at my mind. Yesterday, on the sofa: was that him too?”

“Yep,” he popped softly and leaned in to kiss her temple. “I didn’t know it at the time, not until he tried to connect with me while I was in your mind. His brain must have finally matured enough to seek you out… Gallifreyan babies developed telepathy sometime mid-term, so that sounds about right. He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

“He feels so good… Like there was an empty space I didn’t even know about until now and he’s filling it…” 

“I know the feeling: you fill an awfully large hole too. Even when our minds aren’t connected.”

“Really?”

He kissed her slowly, languorously. “Really. And so will our son, once he's born. I can't wait.”

“Will he always be there?”

“Eventually. Right now the connection is immature, so it’ll be on and off until his prefrontal lobes complete their neuronal migration. Some of his neurons are migrating to you; they’re literally moving into your brain and establishing connections. Once they’re complete and suitably reinforced, he’ll always be there. You’re part of his mind and he’s part of yours. The same thing happens in human mother-child pairs on a more subtle level.”

“Except that most human mothers don’t actually feel their baby in their mind…”

“Nah, they all do. Trust me. They don’t interpret it the same way, and it’s less intense and a little more subject to interpretation, but almost every mother has a connection with her baby, can read its mind, knows exactly what it’s feeling… It's not perfect, but your connection won't be either. It's a lot of guesswork and learning; you just have slightly more information than other human mothers. Remember I told you once that humans are technically capable of telepathy, it just hasn’t fully evolved yet? You lot call it maternal instinct or empathy; we called it a telepathic bond.”

She bit her lip and unfolded an arm from where it were curled against his chest and slid it down over her belly. “Can I respond to him? Or, I don’t know, connect back with him?”

“The connection will take time, lots and lots of repetitions of him reaching out and your mind automatically reaching back. But you can send him emotions while he’s in there; every baby responds to maternal emotions.”

“How do I do that?”

“Simple. Just feel them. Draw together all your love and direct it at him, same as if you were thinking a thought. But instead of words, use your feelings as language.”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly and closed her eyes. Summoning every emotion that usually hovered and clawed at the out-reaches of her mind, she allowed them their coup d'état; they swelled like a swirling nebula in her mind, sailed through her blood vessels, danced along the nerve endings in her skin. 

For the briefest of milliseconds, she felt the effects of her cause, a synchronous conversational dance from the pocket of light pulsating through her mind, but all too soon it was gone and the light faded. She was left in the dark and her heart attempted to leap out of its cage and nestle into her baby's den instead. A prickle at the back of her mind whispered that this was what being a mother was all about: the transference of the largest section of one's heart and soul only for it to exist apart. 

Blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, she barely noticed how still the Doctor had fallen, the sudden starkness of his freckles against his ashen cheeks. 

"Rose…" He was holding his breath, the words struggling out his windpipe like air from the bellows. "You…I felt that."

"What?"

"I felt…your emotions. The ones you were projecting to the baby. How did you project them to me too?"

"I didn’t mean to… sorry."

"Sorry? N-no… I…I didn't think you'd be able to do that...I figured it could only be one-sided, that only I could project to you." His shock ebbed away to a beaming smile. "It's brilliant! Maybe it's because you're carrying our son, I don't know… You might just be gifted; I wouldn't be surprised. But it'll make forming a bond much easier. That is, if you still want a marriage bond."

She laughed, kissing the tip of his nose. "Do you really doubt by now that I want to be close to you in every possible way?"

"Nope. And it's fantastic." He slipped into a Northern drawl on his last word, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Fantastic, huh?" Rose mimicked. "Are you trying to seduce me again?"

"Yep. Is it working?"

"Oh, yeah," she whispered, trailing a single finger up his abdomen and landing between his hearts. "But I have more questions first. I was a _bit_ too preoccupied to ask them last night…"

"Hit me with them," he rasped out while slipping a leg between hers and shifting to his side toward her. His new vantage point did nothing to further a calm discussion, however, as he immediately hid his lips in her neck and began a meandering offensive toward her chest.

"Doctor," she giggled, her laugh punctuated by a sigh and a moan. "Pay attention."

"In addition to _many_ other advantages—" He sucked hard on the dip below her collarbone. "—some of which you enjoyed last night, I might add, my extremely popular physiology is also very good—" He moved to lightly bite and then lave with his tongue the upper swell of her left breast. "—very good indeed at multi-tasking."

She smirked even as she arched into him at his ministrations and reached down to cup him through the sheets. "That so?"

"Uh huh," he mumbled into her heartbeat. "Try me."

Raking a nail along the underside of his rapidly engorging erection with only a minute amount of pressure, she ran her foot along his bare leg. "What's my middle name?"

"Rose!" he squeaked out, his lips stilling and his hips bucking into her hand. 

"Nice try, lofty Time Lord." She removed her hand and rested it on his chest. "But okay, can't say I'm against the multitasking. Let's get through these quickly though, yeah?"

He relaxed and resumed his lips' conquest of her breasts. "No arguments here."

"What does it mean, that he's yours? I mean, is anything going to be different?"

"Blimey, that's a broad question," he remarked, planting a regretful and lingering kiss on her taut nipple before propping his head on his hand. "Gallifryean-human hybrids weren't unheard of, but they weren't common, so I don't know everything. I do know that it's perfectly safe and without major complications though, so some of it will just have to be an adventure."

"Better with three?" 

"Oh, yes…"

She allowed herself a few minutes deviation from her immediate goals to capture his lips and commune her feelings through her tongue. He automatically followed her mouth when she pulled back before grinning and returning to his previous stance. 

"So he'll be a Time Lord then? Or, like, half-Time Lord?"

"The Time Lord gene portions are all or nothing; on or off. There's no middle ground, no blending. Not all Gallifreyans were Time Lords, but all Time Lords were Gallifryean. He'll be a Time Lord. And Gallifreyan. But also human."

Nodding, she swallowed, her next question causing a shudder of dread to course through her blood vessels. Imagining, even theoretically, the tiny kicking baby safe and snug in her womb being hurt… "And he'll…regenerate?"

"That I don't know. Regenerations were something conferred, something earned. But without the Time Lord Council around to regulate and constrain that part of the genetic code… I won't know until I can test his genes, once he's born."

"But maybe?"

"Maybe." She didn't miss the flicker of hope tempered by sadness that flashed through her new husband's eyes and suspected a similar emotion showed in hers as well. 

"What about pregnancy? Is it still nine months?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful. "Probably a little less, actually. Normal gestation was about 30 weeks for us, so averaging the two it'll probably be about 35 weeks for you."

"Why less? I would have thought more, if you lot were so _advanced_." She held up air quotes around the word.

"Common misconception. Longer pregnancies don't always result in smarter babies. Look at elephants: smart, sure, but with a twenty-two month gestation, you'd expect them to be more than twice as intelligent as you. Humans should, in theory, take longer to gestate, but when you evolved to walk upright, it crowded the female's pelvic bones and you _had_ to give birth earlier so that the baby's head could fit through the birth canal. And that's actually when a great amount of social and cognitive acceleration took place in your evolutionary timeline: a more vulnerable, immature baby required a more complex social structure to keep it alive, and social complexity led directly to language and cognitive advancement. The earlier a healthy baby is born, the more social input they require and receive, and since babies' brains are so malleable and learn so well, they integrate more socialisation into their behavioral repertoire."

"Thirty five weeks? More than a month less?"

"Is that all you took away about your fascinating evolutionary history?"

"Less time pregnant equals a more adaptable baby, got it. But Doctor, that means that I'm more than halfway done, there's only, like, three months left!"

"You're brilliant, you are…" He grinned and planted a row of kisses along her hairline. "Don’t worry, there's plenty of time."

"But…" she bit the skin on the side of her thumbnail and toyed with the hem of the sheet. 

"What are you nervous about?" he asked softly.

"Giving birth, for one!"

"Ah." He took her hand away from her mouth and raised her fingers to his own mouth instead. "We haven't really discussed that, have we?"

"No! And what about baby things? We have nothing! What's he going to wear? What about a stroller? I haven't even researched cribs, or—and don't you dare tell me 'time machine': It won't work this time!"

"It'll be fine," he reassured her, pressing his lips to her palm, "the TARDIS has already started building him a beautiful nursery, it's right next door: through those doors, actually." He pointed to a pair of glass French doors she hadn't noticed last night. "Three months is a long time. We'll get everything sorted. Promise."

"Suppose," she muttered, biting her lip. 

"And with regards to the birth, Rose? Absolutely nothing to be concerned about. Plenty of future hospitals and technologies out there that will make sure it's minimal pain and minimal risk. There's nothing I want less than for you to be in serious pain. Okay?"

"Minimal pain?"

"Minimal pain. Some discomfort, sure, but I'll hold your hand. I'll make sure you're alright."

She relaxed finally, plump tears escaping her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. "'K."

"I love you, my always-brave one; you'll be wonderful," he murmured fondly and stroked her hair back from her face as he waited for the tears to dry up. 

"Bravely-terrified, more like." But the tears did cease under his patient gaze and she sniffed only once before clearing her throat and continuing with her questions.

"Will he grow normally?"

"Growth rate also negatively correlates with cognitive aptitude: slower growth means a longer time spent in the critical periods of neuroplasticity." He wiped away the remnants of her tears with the side of his thumb. "So he'll grow slightly slower. Well, by slightly I mean probably maybe approximately, um, half as fast. As a human. Possibly."

Her eyes widened. "What does that mean?"

"His childhood will be longer, he'll be a baby for longer, a toddler for three or four years instead of two…"

Closing her eyes for a moment, she considered this information. Twice as long? On the one hand, that was a lot of nappies. On the other hand… 

"Well, I guess mum always said that my babyhood went by too quickly…"

"Wise woman." He paused. "But you must never tell her I said that."

Rose burst into laughter, almost doubling over at the realisation. "She's—be careful: she's your _mother-in-law_ now!"

He maintained his feigned look of horror for only a moment before his smile broke back through. Running his hand down her side and splaying his hand across the baby bump, he moved forward to kiss her. 

"Worth it."

"You love her, really…"

"I couldn’t possibly comment. I _will_ , however, admit that she brews a mean cup of tea. Which reminds me, no more ginger for you: remember when I made you that cup of ginger tea for your queasy stomach? It never even occurred to me that the baby could react to it… Time Lords are sensitive to ginger; it slows down our metabolism."

"That's why I randomly fell asleep back then?"

"Yeah, because of your inherent connection and your body always fighting to protect him…I had no idea, I really should have guessed, or at least been suspicious based on what happened. It just…I never though something like this was possible. That I could even father children."

"But the baby, he's alright? The ginger didn't hurt him?"

"Nah, it's not much more than a mild sedative; you only had a sip anyway. Doesn't hurt me either, a glass of ginger tea would affect me like having a glass of wine would affect you."

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "Good." She smiled, catching her tongue in her teeth. "And don't think I won't file away that factoid; I'd quite like to see you tipsy."

"I'll have you know I'm a delightful drunk. Eloquent and composed."

"Ha!" She nuzzled into the crook of his arm for a moment; he wrapped his other arm around her waist and drew her into a horizontal hug. She spared a passing thought at how similar this was to every morning they'd woken up together over the last few weeks. Except, of course, that they were both naked under the sheets now: an improvement for the better for sure…

"And speaking of nausea, there's a little quirk about Time Lord pregnancies you should know. Again, my fault for not putting the pieces together, and I'm so sorry: if I'd known…"

"No more apologising: neither of us had any idea. Now spit it out. You're acting all squirmy. And I want your lips back on me pronto."

He sighed and distractedly played with her earlobe. "Touch. Telepathy develops in the womb, as we've already discussed, and since we're touch telepaths, much of that development relies on input to and modulation of oxytocinergic receptors."

"Okay... and that means?"

"As his telepathic senses grow, he needs more and more oxytocin exposure. He gets his supply from your circulating blood cells and if he doesn't get enough, it makes you feel nauseated. As a warning sign. You…you didn't have morning sickness. You weren't producing enough oxytocin."

Panicked, her hand flew back down to the baby. "What? But he's okay? Wait, I haven't had morning sickness for the last week, and it went away for awhile—"

"He's fine. Maybe slightly delayed in his telepathic development, but he'll catch up. He's clever, that one… Your nausea went away because—well, you remember after Cinque Terre and the paddleboat when I started, er, holding you at night to keep away the nightmares? Rather than just sleeping next to you? Touch. Social touch is a great way to raise your oxytocin levels, especially my touch since it turns out I'm his father."

"So you mean that when we were extra touchy-feely he was getting enough oxytocin and that's why I stopped feeling as sick all the time?"

"Yep. And whenever I distanced myself, like last week when we were with your mum…"

"Oh. That's when I felt sick again."

He closed his eyes and pulled her closer again; she could see he was trying his best not to fire off more rambling apologies than stars in all the universes. "Uh huh."

"So what you're saying is that we're going to have to be constantly touching from now on?" She was smiling but he couldn't see her behind his screwed-closed eyes.

"Not _all_ the time, and I can give you some intranasal artificial oxytocin, but—"

"I don't think you're understanding," she laughed and kissed his eyelids. "I'm not complaining."

He opened them. "No?"

She stroked her foot along his legs again, her knee barely grazing his softened length. "Nope."

Seven hundred years melted off his face; even more from behind his eyes. "In that case, care to experience an even more efficient method of augmenting those oxytocin levels?" He zigzagged a fingertip along the bare skin of her upper chest. 

"Full body skin-to-skin?" she guessed, feeling him begin to harden against her stomach.

"Way number one," he confirmed, "right as always. But I have two other methods too; I think you'll like them."

She could only moan in response as he gently rutted against her, angling himself so that his base slid through her folds and provided delicious friction against her swiftly swelling clit. 

His finger dropped to her breast, circumnavigating the basecamp of her stiffening peak with an infuriatingly light touch. Without warning, he dropped his mouth to the nipple while his hand moved to the other breast, cupping and massaging while his tongue continued to sweetly torture its prize. 

"Way number two," he hummed against her breast, the vibrations sending need across her nerve endings and wetness straight to her core. "Breast stimulation is an excellent method of inducing oxytocin production."

She arched against him greedily, trying to increase the pressure of him against where she needed him most. "Doctor," she whimpered as he switched sides, closing his mouth over the other tight bud while his hand tenderly kneaded the glistening mound where he'd just been. 

"Feel that? That warmth, like you're sitting by a warm fire with someone massaging your back? Maybe with a glass of mulled wine? That's oxytocin."

"It's more than just warmth…" She reached over to dig her fingers into his beautiful, beautiful arse and pull him deeper into her folds. 

He laughed and hooked his hand under her knee to draw it up his hip. She curled up her other leg, the one underneath him, and slid the arm not cupping that magnificent, _magnificent_ bum under her pillow, mirroring his hands' position, and interlaced her fingers with his. 

Brushing his hand down the center of her body, over her navel and into her slippery folds, his teasing smile abruptly dropped from his face. The time for tarrying was obviously over and she moaned in appreciation when he only quickly dipped a finger into her entrance to ensure she was prepared before guiding himself into her heat. 

What the position lacked in leverage and depth it made up for in intimacy; his hand gripped her hip as he temperately rocked into her, their upper bodies flush against each other and their legs tangled together. He kissed her for a few minutes, his tongue moving in a slow rhythm along with his thrusts, but as they both approached their breaking points, he moved his mouth down to her throat. She flung it back as she began to meet his thrusts with increasing urgency and he marked her with gentle bites and uninhibited suction.

When she came, it wasn't a break; it was a fix. 

When he followed two pumps later, it wasn't fireworks; it was a dipping of toes in a cool stream on a sweltering day.

Neither collapsed against each other; they already were. 

"Way number three," he panted. "Orgasm. Orgasms produce a hell of a lot of oxytocin."

She laughed breathlessly. "I don't think this baby's going to have any trouble catching up on his telepathic development, then."

"No, not at all." He tucked a strand of sweaty hair behind her ear; she watched the steadying of his chest, rising and falling, stuttering and regulating. 

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him sloppily before dropping her boneless head back on the pillow.

"I love _you_ ," he repeated immediately. 

"Life is really, really good, isn't it?"

"It couldn't be better."

The listened to each other's breathing for a silent minute until Rose felt him begin to harden inside her again. She grinned. 

"You know what? Just in case, my Doctor should probably administer another dose of oxytocin. Can never be too sure."

"Never too sure indeed." And he rolled over, careful not to dislodge himself, and grabbed the book on his bedside table. "Let's see. _Advanced Bipedal Biological Reproduction: Vol. 34, Pre-Episolian Humans._ Chapter sixteen: Human Reproductive Positioning During the Second Trimester of Gestation. We've already done these three: I believe we're onto this one. Forearms and knees good for you?"

"Keeping the magic alive, Doctor."


	26. Chapter 26

_Resplendent._

Were there other words in his lexicon? In the entire universe? Because if this was the only word that came to his omniligual Time Lord mind when she waddled into the console room that morning, a single word that multiplied and crowded his every atom, then it was possible that linguistic communication across the stars had free-fallen into the gravitational singularity of her existence. Time and space, all unending and ensnared in the infinite density at her core. 

He told her so. 

( _But not the part about infinite density: he didn't think his seven months' pregnant wife would appreciate any comment about her density, no matter how well-intentioned_ )

( _His wife_ )

( _She was resplendent_ )

She laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thanks, but I don't feel it this morning…I shouldn't be this exhausted just taking a shower." Lowering herself carefully onto the jumpseat, she leant back on the neck-rest and closed her eyes. 

His eyebrows narrowed and he felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "Why don't you go back to bed? I'll bring you breakfast."

Smiling softly but keeping her eyes closed, she grappled for his hand. "Thanks, but it'll pass. Just tired, what with this giant load I'm carrying everywhere. What I wouldn't do for some actual tea this morning, though."

He considered. "I can tweak some adenosine receptors for you? Same effects as caffeine."

Opening her eyes, she cocked her head to the side, mulling it over, but shook her head. "Nah. Ask me again in an hour if I'm still acting like the waking dead though."

Grinning, he rotated her around on the seat and sat behind her, rubbing her shoulders. "You? The waking dead in the mornings? Let's just say I'm used to it."

"You are, huh? You're just lucky you give such a fantastic neck massage; I'd hurl you right out of this ship."

"You'd never."

"No, I wouldn't," she murmured contentedly, leaning back into his arms. He wrapped them around his family, sighing happily. "Besides, who would shave my legs for me?"

Indulging in a whiff of her hair before answering, he brushed his lips along her temple. "You'd be all hairy," he said delightedly, "hairy and tense-muscled." He moved his mouth to her ear. "I'd still love you."

When she shivered, he knew he'd succeeded at waking her up somewhat. A trail was blazed down her neck, along her almost bare shoulders, down a milky arm (an essential pit stop being made for his favourite freckle). His hands wandered, up her sides and around—

"I think we need to check in on my mum."

"Rose!" He lifted his lips from the inside of her elbow with a look of hurt. "Can we please not discuss Jackie while I'm cupping your breasts?"

Giggling, she lifted the knuckles of his hand to her lips before turning around so she could see him. "Sorry. I'm getting a little worried about her though; she usually calls me all the time, but I haven't heard from her in _ages_. And just now she texted me and said she'd be busy for the next few weeks and not worry about stopping by for her birthday in a couple of days… Which is really weird."

"Maybe she's busy. Or she wants to let us bask in honeymoon bliss as long as possible." He lightly kissed the corner of her eyelid, his lips lingering at the sensation of her eyelashes fluttering against them.

"As far as she's concerned, we were married ages ago."

"Oh. I forgot. Can we tell Sarah Jane that we're married then? Or your old friends?"

"What?"

"I want to tell someone," he murmured as he nibbled on her ear. "I want to shout it from the rooftops."

Her breath hitched and she turned her head to capture his lips. "Still? It's been two months."

"I'll be this excited for the rest of my life."

"You're so daft," she teased with a smile, "but I guess so am I, because I feel the same way. And yeah, let's visit Sarah Jane soon; I'd love to see her again. But Doctor, don't expect her to be as enthusiastic as Jack when we finally told him the whole story."

"No one could be that ebullient. Except me. Obviously. And no, I know she won't throw us a party and burst out naked from a cake. Which is a good thing."

"I don't know, you were pretty hyper at Jack's surprise congratulations party… Hyper and extremely randy…"

"Can you blame me?" 

"I blame you for not locking the pantry door."

He squirmed uneasily. "Sorry. Again. I was rather distracted by your dress. And that pteranodon."

"On the upshot, we definitely made Jack's entire year."

"An entire century, more like…" 

Her teasing smile dropped for at the reminder of Jack's immortality, of the cursed gift she'd inadvertently bestowed on their friend when she'd skinned the Bad Wolf and donned its furs. He'd assured her that it wasn't her fault, that he'd come to terms with it, but it still weighed heavily on her mind. 

"Sorry," he apologised softly, "didn't mean to vanquish that beautiful smile. But! I may have something to bring it back. That last planet we visited, a couple of days ago?"

"The one that managed to avoid war and conflict for its entire existence?"

"Yep," he popped, pleased with himself. "Great place to holiday. Let’s make that part of our permanent rota. Anyway, they've accelerated in their genetic engineering more than I'd expected, more than I've ever heard was even possible, probably because they don't funnel all their resources into a military. I may be able to adapt some of their work to weaken some of Jack's indestructible telomeres. He'd still have a considerably lengthened life span, but it would be at the century-level and not the epoch-level."

"Seriously? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I wanted to be sure, or at least more confident it was possible. But I think I may have worked it out while you were putting on your makeup just now. No guarantees, but—"

"There's hope?"

"There's hope."

She squealed and launched herself further into his arms. "Let's go tell him!"

"Give me a little longer to iron out all the wrinkles and then we'll go, okay?"

"Yeah… Yes! Okay, yeah, I'm totally awake and energetic now; no fake caffeine dose for me!"

He laughed and stroked her hair with one hand, the somersaulting baby with his other. "Muppet's happy too, it seems."

"Oh, Muppet's always happy. Being quite docile right now, actually," she commented as the baby's shape wriggled out across the surface of her abdomen like a sea creature emerging from the depths. 

"It's like he's trying to hold my hand!" the Doctor enthused, rubbing his fingers across the protrusion.

"Pretty sure that's his bum, 'cause I feel his head pressing against my cervix. Ouch." Rose wriggled her hips uncomfortably and soon the baby submerged himself again. "Ah, well, now he's pressing at my bladder. An improvement, I suppose." Sighing, she sent a wave of gratitude to her son, loosening her arms from around the Doctor and awkwardly hauling herself to her feet. "See you in a moment."

"You might want to put on some warmer clothes while you're at it," he called out just before she disappeared into the corridor. "It's early spring in your mother's time line right now."

"Thanks!"

By the time she returned in trousers and a black maternity vest top, he'd already piloted the TARDIS to the Powell Estates. She kissed his cheek and began hunting under the console and behind the jumpseat.

"Is my new jumper out here? Last place I remember wearing it was when…well, I think it was taken off in here, anyway."

"You mean when I unzipped it with my teeth and then took you against that coral strut there?" He quickly located the discarded jumper and bent down to retrieve it before she could struggle down herself. 

"That was a good day." 

He eyed her low-cut top and pregnancy-swollen cleavage appreciatively for only a second before handing over the zipper top. "We could try to top it today, if you like."

"In mum's flat? Doctor!" Her gasp was part scandalized, part salacious. 

"Ideally _not_ , but let's not rule it out." He thought it through, the idea becoming more and more appealing. Well. Rose Tyler naked was always appealing. "You can send her out for rapeseed oil or something; I can lock all the entrances, just to be safe, and—" 

"Rapeseed oil?" Damn. She no longer looked intrigued, only confused.

"Loads of omega-3s." His eyes turned dreamy. "Actually, I should go out myself and buy some of that for us here; it would be a brilliant change of pace from olive oil in your salad dressing…" 

"Only you would be almost as turned on by the idea of nutritional supplementation as with sex."

"Your health is very sexy to me."

She kissed him. "And your devotion is very sexy. So let’s make sure mum's okay too, and then we can discuss other locations we need to christian. Because I've wanted to straddle you in that apple grass for a long time now."

A pleased smile threatened to split open the sides of his lips. "Really? Because I'd be all on board if you wanted to wear that purple top again."

Laughing, she slipped on the jumper and zipped it up. "I _thought_ I saw you looking… Not sure it would fit now, mind." She held out her hand. "Come on, put in your polite and gracious mother-in-law time and then I'll make it up to you."

"I'll hold you to that." 

"Good. Mmm, I can move properly again." Opening the TARDIS door, she glanced back to make sure he was following and stepped outside. A moment later he stepped outside too and closed the door behind him. Reveling in how blithe she felt in her new transdimensional top the Doctor had insisted on buying after she'd been eyed covetously on a planet with a mysterious obsession over human infants, she leapt over the curb and bounced along the grass. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as they walked into the estate with an expression of pride tinged with sadness: she knew the safety precaution was his idea, but was also aware how much he enjoyed seeing the evidence of his son in her belly. It _was_ liberating, feeling the baby squirm even as it had no discernible weight or space in the current dimension, but she agreed with him: it was a necessity at times but she preferred to see her rounded belly and be able to stroke the little sea monster inside.

He took her hand and they veritably skipped along the courtyard and up the stairs. For once she'd remembered her house key but though it turned in the lock, the door refused to budge; her mum must have added an extra lock or the chain. Odd. 

Knocking loudly, she shifted back on her heels and distractedly rubbed her lower back. The Doctor immediately took over and with a grateful knock of her hip into his, she dug out her phone from the deep pockets once it became evident no one was coming to the door.

They both cocked their heads at the sound of her mum's ringtone tinkling out from behind the door. Rose knocked again at the door, harder and more urgently this time, fear racing through her veins. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the Doctor to unlock the door with his sonic when it whipped open and Jackie darted into the hall, a bright smile plastered on her face. 

"Rose! Oh, I didn't hear you at first; I'm so glad to see you, but—wait. How long have you been away? Rose Tyler, if you've already…" She waved her hand in front of her daughter's flat stomach, glancing down the walkway. 

"Oh! Sorry mum," she laughed, unzipping her fluffy jumper to show off her impressive baby bump before engulfing her mum in a tight hug. "It's only been a couple of months, would have come earlier but I kept missing you whenever I rang." She narrowed her eyebrows. "What have you been up to, that you can't even call your pregnant daughter back? And why are we still standing outside?"

Jackie's darting eyes fell on the Doctor and she crushed him in her arms before the Time Lord was able to process her movements. A few full-on and slobbery kisses later and he'd sloughed off as much of her touch as he could manage, he finally got his voice back. Rose failed to keep a straight face through the proceedings. 

"Er, yes. Hello, Jackie."

Her mum still seemed shifty and the pregnancy-potentiated nerves flared up once more. "Mum, what's going on?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Jackie's voice was higher pitched that usual. "But the flat is a complete tip; let's go catch up in that ship of yours."

The Doctor shuddered slightly at the idea of Jackie inside his (their) TARDIS but swallowed bravely and nodded, offering Rose his arm. "Certainly. Shall we? I'm not sure how much cleaner the galley is than your kitchen, but, um, our home is your home. Mi casa and all that…"

With a smile that looked suspiciously like relief, Jackie patted the Doctor's other arm and slipped her elbow into his. 

Rose refused to budge. "No, wait a minute. Mum, why are you asking so strange?"

"I probably haven't had my morning cuppa, Rose, that's all. Come on, let's go." She tugged at the Doctor's arm but Rose tugged back.

"What is it?" Her fear transformed to horror. "You don't have a bloke in there do you? Ugh, mum…"

"No bloke, I promise. But let's get going, before—" Jackie censored herself and now the Doctor was suspicious too. 

"Mum. Stop. What's going on?"

Her mum's eyes darted between her and the Doctor and then back down at her stomach. "It's not important. It'll sort itself out, it's probably nothing anyway, and Rose, did I tell you about your cousin Diana? She's—"

"Don’t try and distract me, mum." Rose let go of the Doctor's arm and barreled past her mother, slipping behind her back and entering the flat. 

It was…normal. Same tattered sofa with colourful throws covering up the worn spots, same old collection of romantic tripe on the bookshelves, same general tidy clutter crammed onto every available surface. She stalked over to the bedrooms but they were indisputably empty. The telly was on mute, the washing machine Rose had insisted the Doctor install a few months ago was running a cycle, and a cup of steaming tea on the coffee table indicated that her mum had been settling down with her afternoon soaps when they'd knocked.

"Mum? Why didn't you answer the door when we knocked if—oooh, Doctor: look!"

Rose's attention had been distracted by a caption on Trisha, "I married a dead man", which would have been unremarkable if not for the ghostly human-shape shimmering at the talk host's side. Grabbing the remote, she switched on the volume and flicked through the other four channels: the weather on ITV was showing a map of cliché cuddly ghosts across the country, there was a scene of the same odd shimmering figures walking across the same bridge where the Doctor had once taken her hand and they'd run toward an 'invisible' giant transmitter, and the afternoon re-run of Eastenders showed Peggy refusing to serve what Rose could only assume to be the ghost of Den Watts. 

The Doctor slipped his glasses on and watched the television quietly before turning slowly to face Jackie. "Unless you Earthlings are celebrating Halloween six months early this year, you'd better tell me what this is about." His voice was low and dangerous.

"Just a few…ghost-things that appeared a few weeks ago. They're harmless, just turn up at specific times, float around for a bit, and then disappear again. They've never hurt anyone. One even smells like Grandpa Prentice." Jackie took a deep breath and turned on the charm with every fibre of her being. "Doctor," she wheedled, "you've never taken me for a trip in your spaceship; I bet you could take us _anywhere_. The moon, even. I've always wanted to go the moon… Let's put this on the back burner and—"

He groaned and dug his fingers into his hair, twisting and tugging with exasperated ferocity. "I can't. Something's going on here, something very wrong… The timelines are skewwhiff too, I should have known right away; something is affecting the normal progression of history here. Something big. Something that could affect the entire planet, or worse."

"It can wait though. Just fly away and come back later. You have a time machine, right?"

"We can't do that, mum," Rose sighed, "we're part of the events now. It's now or never." She unzipped her jumper and absently stroked the somersaulting baby. Seeds of fear were unfurling in her mind, uncurling and seeping like vines into the dark recesses, and she clamped closed her bond with the baby to spare him feeling his father's emotions through her and the Doctor's burgeoning bond. 

He laid a hand on hers.

_We can though. We can get in the TARDIS and leave them to it. I'll even let Jackie come with us._

_You know we won't do that; we couldn't. If something's wrong, you may be the only person who can fix it._

_Will you keep Muppet safe in the TARDIS then? Please?_

_Yes._

_Promise?_

_Promise._

_Are you sore with me?_

_No. Just worried about you._

_I know. I love you._

_I love you._

She blinked back tears as he let go of her hand and chewed on the earpieces of his specs, deep in thought. 

"Right. Rose, if you don't mind staying here with Jackie for _literally_ one minute while I locate the source of these so-called 'ghosts', I'll be back and you can both take your tea in the TARDIS."

Nodding, she clenched her fists and responded more strongly to his quick kiss than he'd probably expected, nipping at his lip to keep him close when he tried to pull away.

"I'll be back in a minute," he promised softly once she reluctantly released him. He blushed at Jackie's glare and ran out of the flat, the pictures shaking on the walls when the door slammed shut. 

"We _are_ married, mum," she said, fighting a secret smile as she watched him through the window sprinting across the quad to the TARDIS doors. 

"I know sweetheart… You'll see for yourself, hopefully not too soon: it's never nice to see your child being snogged."

She laughed, falling back onto the sofa. "Suppose so. Makes up for all those blokes I had to watch you kiss goodbye, though."

"Fair enough. Worthless pieces of rubbish, they were…" Jackie sank down beside her daughter and toyed with the pull tie on her own blue zippy-top. "Sorry for not telling you about the ghosts. I didn't want you to get involved, being preggers and all…"

"That's sweet mum, but honestly, it's fine: things always work out." She bit her lip and scratched the brown faux suede of the couch. "You couldn't be any more protective than he is, anyway. He won’t let anything happen."

"I noticed. How're you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually. More tired than usual, my feet are all gross and swollen—" She toed off her trainers with a satisfied moan. "—ahh, that's better. But otherwise the Doctor's good at finding futuristic remedies for anything uncomfortable."

"You're lucky, you are… When I was this far along with you, my belly itched so much the skin was raw, and my back's never been quite the same."

"Oh, mine was itchy the other day too! But the Doctor found a cream that—"

The Doctor burst back into the flat, panting. "How long was I?"

"Fifty six seconds."

"Yes!" He threw her a thumbs-up and glanced down at her feet. "Your shoes are off. No self-adjusting shoes today?"

"Brilliant induction."

His eyes softened into rainbows and kittens and glitter. "Good use of the word. You're brilliant…"

"Thanks, but focus for a moment. What did you find?"

He knelt at her feet and began gently easing her feet back into the white trainers. "Torchwood. They're playing with the fabric between the universes, trying to harvest energy from a breach or something. Extremely dangerous, but luckily I've had my eye on them since I saw all that alien technology in Jack's branch. We'll pop over there and I'll shut it down. Done in time for lunch."

"We can stay here in mum's flat, you know, if it's going to be that easy." The sofa _was_ quite comfortable… 

He laced up the first shoe and moved to her other foot. "I'd feel better if you, er, both of you were on the TARDIS. Safest place in the universe."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing. Wellll, nothing I know for sure… There's some suspicious activity in the Torchwood building, odd signals, but it may be nothing."

"And if it were something?"

He kissed her socked-toes before working her foot into the shoe. "It might be signs of life from another universe. Maybe. Something may have gotten in through the massive hole they're creating."

"Oh. You'll be careful, right?"

"I won't do anything reckless. I've got a lot to live for."

"Yeah you do." 

He smiled and pulled her to her feet before turning to the other body on the couch. "Ready, Jackie?"

Jackie was watching them with her mouth open and moisture in her eyes. She nodded and shook her head as if to clear it. "Alright. Mind you, I was only joking about the moon. I'll kill you if we end up there."

He laughed and proffered his hand to help her off the sofa as well. "And here I thought the mother-in-law might be moving in."

Jackie shot him a look and he patted her arm affectionately. "Allons-y! Rose, let's zip that back up…" His hand lingered over her baby bump for a moment, eyes closed, before fumbling with the zipper and ensconcing the evidence away once more. 

_I can feel your fear, you know._

_Sorry._

_It's bad, isn't it?_

_Maybe. There's something in the air and I don't like it._

_You'll sort it all out._

_Of course I will._

_You think you're so impressive._

_I think, Rose Tyler, you've experienced how impressive I can be._

She snorted and traced the rim of his wonky ear. "Indeed." She turned to her mum. "You'll come, right mum? If I have to be cloistered away, I want you there too. I couldn't stand for anything to happen to you."

"Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you. You're still my baby, you know. No matter how old you are or how many kids of your own you have…You'll always be my baby girl…"

It was two tear-stained faces the Doctor escorted down the stairs to the TARDIS. 

\---

_Rooooooose…_

_Rooooooose…_

She startled awake from her position on the media room sofa where she and her mum had retired to screen the next weeks' Hollyoaks catch-up. On edge and worried enough that she hadn't been able to concentrate on the plot in the least, she was surprised that she'd succumbed to sleep.

"Is he here?"

Jackie yawned and looked around. "No, don't think so. Close your eyes again, Rose; you're tired. I'll wake you when he gets back."

"I thought I heard him…"

_Rooooooose…_

Wait. His voice was coming from inside her head.

She and the Doctor had made loads of progress on establishing a permanent mental bond since they'd gotten married but it still took touch to transmit their thoughts. He'd explained in great lengths the progression of tactile receptors and neuroplasticity and lots of things with acronyms, but as she understood it, it was pretty simple: the more they practiced connecting their minds, the stronger the bond until eventually it could be transmitted across airwaves rather than just through the skin. 

Doctor?

The reply was delayed and weak, crackling with static, but she just about made it out.

_Stay there. Call Jack!_

With trembling and suddenly clumsy fingers she grappled for her mobile and scrolled through the address book for Jack's number. He answered after only one ring.

"Doctor?!"

"No, Jack, it's me. I think he needs your help, please—"

"I just heard there's something going on at Canary Wharf: I assume that's where he is?"

"Yeah, the London Torchwood office. I don't know what's going on, but…You can use your vortex manipulator right?"

His terse tone softened. "Don't worry, Rose. I'll be right there. I'll find him. Where are you?"

"In the TARDIS, with my mum. We're safe, but the Doctor…"

"I'll be there in less than five seconds, okay? See you soon."

She stared at the phone after the line went dead. "Mum?"

"Oh, sweetheart…" Her mum engulfed her in a sideways hug, stroking her hair. "Worrying never did anyone any good, but you go ahead. I won't tell."

A minute passed. Five. Ten. 

At the fifteen-minute mark she struggled to her feet and began pacing, despite her aching back. 

At twenty-one minutes she perched on the arm of the sofa and bit her nails down to the quick. 

All at once, the room lit up, the muted lights beaming on full volume and the television switching to the 2067 New Years' fireworks in London. The TARDIS was heralding her Thief's return.

"Doctor!" 

She took off at a run, ignoring every ache and pain and awkward wide leg stance, but he was faster, reaching her right outside the media room door. Shaking harder than she'd ever seen him, he caught her in his arms and buried his face into her neck, kissing and trailing his hands desperately across every inch of her back, her arms, her hair, the swell of her stomach, anywhere he could reach. 

"Mine; you're all mine…" he murmured into her skin, pulling her tighter and moving his lips up to her mouth, her eyelids, her jawline. 

All her worry dissolved into a half-hysterical storm of giggles and she mirrored his frantic movements, needing to ensure every atom of his existence was intact. His freckles stood out in start contrast on the pallor of his face and she traced them with the side of her thumb.

"I saw…I saw an alternate timeline, you… Oh, Rose, you're still here, you're here and I'm here and… You were supposed to be ripped away from me, I don't know what I would have done…"

"You're stuck with me," she choked into his neck, "I'm here. We're here."

"And I'm never letting you go." 

They stood clinging to each other until a soft throat clearing led them to turn toward Jackie, who was standing with her arms crossed but a smile on her face.

"Come here, you…" the Doctor laughed and pulled her into the hug. "I would have lost you too, Jackie, in this other timeline. And it felt awful, believe it or not."

"You plum," Jackie murmured shakily but swatted him affectionately. "Glad you're back. Earth's safe, I assume?"

"Oh, yes. Thanks to Jack; he got there just in time to hold the lever and help me send the Cybermen back into the void. Can't even imagined how I would have done it if he hadn't been there, everyone else had been through the void and would have been… If I hadn't fixed his vortex manipulator a couple of months ago… Anyway, he's in the TARDIS now. Mr. Mickey too, I sent him in here when I realised I'd have to close the breach so he'd be safe. Long story. Well, I assume they're here; I didn't really check when I ran past." He kissed Rose's forehead. "Had to get back to you."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, Cybermen? As in from that parallel universe?" 

"The very same. They managed to cross the void, er, the boundary between universes…" His eyes darkened. "Might have had a lovely Dalek invasion at the same time if I hadn't dismantled their void ship before Torchwood managed to pry it open… It was a good thing I'd taken the blueprints to the building and managed to sneak in without them noticing me."

"Daleks _and_ Cybermen?" Her knees turned weak at the thought of exactly how dangerous it had really been out there; he caught her with an arm around her waist. 

"I've had nightmares about that very scenario. But no. Not this time." He turned to Jackie. "Your so-called ghosts were the early imprints of an exceptionally aggressive mutant species, I guess you would call them. I managed to send them straight into hell the moment they came through all the way. But—" He hesitated and scratched the back of his neck. "There's another ghost in the console room. And I can't send him back; he's stuck here. The walls between the universes are closed forever."

"What do you mean? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jackie stepped back and glowered at the Doctor. "If someone doesn't tell me right now what he's babbling about…"

"Doctor?" Rose squeezed his arm inquisitively.

"Go see for yourself, Jackie. But, um, I should prepare you… It's not _really_ him, it's a parallel version of him, and he knows you but an alternate you, and…"

Rose's eyes snapped away from her mother to the Doctor. "Pete?" she mouthed. He nodded. She swallowed.

"Mum… Mum, you need to go out there. Trust me."

"What are you two nattering about? What—"

A strawberry blond stepped out of the shadows of the corridor. "Hello, Jacks."

\---

The stuff of legend collapsed panting to the bed forty-three minutes later, the Doctor bracing her fall and rolling them onto their sides. She curled up into his sweat-glistening arms, kissing his fingertips, and he sucked at the back of her neck. 

"How long will we be together?"

"Forever."

_Her forever was all he'd ever need._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! It was a blast, thanks so much to everyone for their lovely reviews, comments, and encouragement! The magnificent **Veritascara** consulted on the delivery scene for this chapter- thank you!!!

At thirty-one weeks, he took her to a medieval-themed market on Constellius Beta and held her hand while she slowly waddled through the stalls, laughing over little trinkets and baubles: he was reminded of the first time they felt the baby kick and tears prickled the back of his eyes.

At thirty-two weeks, he took her on a paddleboat cruise up the Mississippi River and held her hair as she threw up over the handrails: he was reminded of their pedalo in the Mediterranean and their decision to raise the baby together, and he forced down the lump that appeared in his throat.

At thirty-three weeks, he took her to their new cottage and held her in his arms as he whisked her, blindfolded, across the threshold and gently deposited her in their newly refurbished and decorated living room: he was reminded of the day he first felt his son's telepathic signature, a halo of light beaming even brighter than the euphoria he'd already been feeling, and Rose kissed away the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye.

At thirty-four weeks and one day, he took her with words of breathless adulation, the TARDIS doors flung wide open to the Orion nebula, and held her hips as she gripped the strongest lever on the console and moaned his chosen name: he was reminded of their fifth and ninth and twentieth times in that location when she collapsed, giggling, into his shaky arms on the floor, and the only emotion he felt was pure contentment.

She was thirty-five weeks exactly when he suggested a walk on a beach and she was exclaiming over the brightly painted beach huts set against the white parish _kirke_ when his grip tightened on her hand.

"Rose…"

"Mmm? It's so gorgeous here at sunset… I love the mountains in the distance: they look like giant icebergs, floating in the purple sea…"

"Rose…" He'd halted in place and she was pulled back to his side.

"Are you alright?"

"Are _you_? Rose, he's…he's ready."

Her free hand flew up to her abdomen. "How…But I don't feel anything, shouldn't—"

He let go of her hand to place his own above the baby as well. "I just felt a surge of prostaglandin and you're hard as a rock; if I'm right, your membrane's going to rupture in a few seconds."

"What?" she breathed, beginning to panic. "Rupture? That doesn't sound good, Doctor, I—oh. I think my water just broke…" She squirmed uncomfortably as warm liquid trailed down her tights.

"That's another way to say your amniotic sac membrane raptured, my dearheart," he replied tenderly. Reaching into his transdimensional pockets, he pulled out a clean washcloth and gently dabbed at her wet legs.

"Ugh, it's sloshing in my boots," she moaned and he could hear the forced joviality in her tone.

"The TARDIS is only three minutes away, you can change into your new nightgown once we're inside. It's packed just inside the doorway with all your other hospital gear."

She didn't move. "Are you sure it's time? It could be false labour…"

"There's no doubt in my mind that he's coming today. Thirty-five weeks on the dot: he's a Time Lord, alright! Besides, we, er, popped your mucus plug six days ago, so we knew it would be sometime soon…"

She didn't laugh or flash one of her salacious smiles at the reference and her hands were trembling. He captured them in his own and spoke softly. "Rose. Remember, we've talked about this: everything will go just fine. I'll make sure nothing happens to either of my favourite people in the universe."

"I'm not ready…" she whispered, her eyes beginning to blink rapidly, "I don't want him to go…I like him all safe and warm inside me."

He smiled softly at his wife even as his hearts were threatening to flutter straight out of his chest and join the flock of grey seagulls circling overhead. "I know you do… But Rose…" Smoothing back her wild hair in the Scandinavian wind, he kissed her eyelids before his throat felt steady enough to continue. "I can't wait to meet him, can't wait to feel his little hand curl around my thumb and watch his little lungs take his first gasp of air. He's already so magnificent, cloistered away in your womb, that I can't even begin to imagine how breathtaking he'll be in your arms."

His life mate, his bond mate, his best mate finally nodded, tears flowing readily down her cheeks. Brushing them away while gazing reassuringly into her eyes, he first kissed her lips and then her tautly stretched stomach.

"Can I carry you back to the TARDIS, my Lady?"

She clasped her arms around his neck and he lifted her into his arms, trying to maintain a composed pace back to their ship and not break into a run or a leap or a dance.

"We can pick up my mum first?"

"Of course. I'll make sure it's in the evening after work so Pete can come as well."

"And Jack, too?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"And Mickey and his girlfriend?"

The Doctor almost stumbled and he held his most precious cargo more tightly in his arms. "Ricky? Really?"

"Doctor…"

"Fine, fine...but don't blame me if you end up having the baby on the TARDIS grating, with all these stops…" His teasing tone softened. "Anything you want, Rose."

"That's more like it." She grinned at him, tongue in cheek, but then winced slightly.

He kissed her forehead as he continued walking. "Was that a contraction?"

"I've never had a baby before, I don't know! Doctor, I don't know anything!" Her temporary calm had evaporated.

"Yes you do, we've been to those classes at the hospital. Besides, you don't need to know anything. I'll take care of everything, okay?"

Her pain-induced hysteria abated slightly and she relaxed into his hold. "Yeah… How do I know if it's a contraction, then?"

"Does it feel like a wave of pain moving from your lower back to your uterus? Or lots of pressure? Or like a really strong menstrual cramp?"

"The last one I guess, although it's gone now."

"I'll keep time, okay? You don't need to do anything, just try to relax. I'll get you some analgesics once we're inside."

"And you're 100% certain they're safe for the baby? Because I can handle the pain if there's even the slightest possibility—"

"They completely bypass his bloodstream, I promise. They're engineered to only work on the pain receptor sites in your brain. You're still technically feeling the pain, you just won't register it." The TARDIS doors opened for them and he carried her inside.

"Doctor?"

"Mmm?" He set her down carefully on the jump seat but made no move toward the console, just stared at her with his mouth slightly agape and fingers tugging at his hair.

"I'm having this baby today, huh?"

With one long whoosh of exhalation, he kissed her once, twice, and ran his hands along her turgid abdomen in awe.

"You're having _our_ baby today, and I don't think I'll ever get over this moment: every atom, every subatomic particle, every unit of energy that has ever existed and will ever exist is bursting to the brim with my love for you two and there's no empty space left. This is it, Rose Tyler: the day love truly conquers all existence and its first rebellion is ready to herald the morning."

"You're so full of it," she laughed.

"Precisely."

\--

At thirty-five weeks, two hours, and seventeen minutes, he took hold of his son's head and shoulders as he murmured praise and encouragements at his wife. Their bond flared to life at the first physical touch and it was with wet eyes that he felt his soul fuse together into a whole.

At thirty-five weeks, two hours, and eighteen minutes, he held his wailing son in his arms for only a venerable moment before lifting him up to where a delivery nurse had unbuttoned Rose's gown and was ready with a warm blankets on her chest. She attempted to clean him and administer a quick neonatal examination, but the Doctor refused to relinquish any of those precious seconds to someone else: he was healthy and perfect just as he was and the nurse finally acquiesced to his medical expertise with a long sigh, handing the star-struck father another warmed cotton blanket. She surreptitiously wiped off some of the amniotic fluid and blood as he lifted the squalling baby in his arms again so the blanket on Rose's chest could be removed.

It wasn't until the baby was skin-to-skin with his mother and quieting down that they met each other's eye, too entranced with the new life reclining against her heart, but when they did, there were no words. She was exhausted, she was sweaty, her mascara was running down her face. She was the most beautiful creature. Well. She and their son were tied for the position.

He'd thought about what he'd first say, what his first words about his son should be, had considered reams of poetry and inspiring quotations, brave words and lighthearted quips, but only three words managed to escape his lips. Luckily, multitudes danced in his chosen phrase.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely and he was speaking to his family unit as a whole.

"He's perfect."

"He's the _most_ perfect…"

"He couldn't be more perfect…"

The nurses good-naturedly clucked their tongues at each other and one took the blanket out of the Doctor's hand and draped it over the baby and mother (and the father's splayed hand). Neither noticed their existence. The official OBGYN, whose job the Doctor had immediately usurped, was finally allowed her moment and delivered the placenta with the help of one of the nurses while the other clamped the cord after a few minutes; neither noticed. Absolutely nothing was more transfixing than the rise and fall of their blond-haired baby's back, the way his miniature pink lips began to purse and smack together, his eyes fluttering open and closed again, the tiny noises from his throat.

At thirty-five weeks, two hours, and twenty-eight minutes, the Doctor realised he'd been wrong earlier when he'd declared to Rose that the universe couldn't fit another particle of his love for them. He'd told her in another body that he could feel the spinning of the Earth; now he could feel the growth of the cosmos, could feel his love growing with each breath his son inhaled, pressing and battering at its borders, and he wondered if the feeling in his chest when his son first opened his eyes and made met his gaze was the original reason for the big bang and the expansion of all things.

At thirty-five weeks, two hours, and forty-one minutes, the Doctor discovered his progeny was a prodigy when he proceeded to use his arms and legs to maneouver over to his mother's nipple and latch on after only two attempts. Rose bit her lip and then relaxed as oxytocin's gentle warmth overrode the odd tugging sensation of nursing and she grappled for the Doctor's hand.

"Nurse!" he exclaimed without moving his eyes from the eighth wonder of all creation. "Did you see that? Superior physiology, just like his father! He's a genius!"

The closest nurse laughed and adjusted the blanket so that the baby was snug and warm. "Natural reflex, dad. Most babies, regardless of the species, do that under the right conditions."

Neither the mother nor the father noticed her reply.

\---

At one hour and twenty-six minutes old, the lynchpin of all the galaxies fell asleep, drunk on his mother's milk, and after brushing his father's tears off his sweet, soft, delicious baby cheeks, Rose asked a nurse to let her mum in.

No more than twenty seconds could have passed before Jackie barreled into the room. "He's gorgeous!" she exclaimed loudly.

"You can't even see him!" Rose laughed and gently pried the Doctor's hand off the baby's back and shifted his little face out of the pillow of her breasts. His father immediately inserted his finger into the sleeping baby's reflexive fist.

Jackie leaned over the bed and stroked the baby's matted curls. "I knew he would be. And he is… Oh, Rose, I'm so proud of you… How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Overwhelmingly happy."

Jackie rolled her eyes and stroked the baby's clenched fist. "That's obvious: you're both so high on that baby I bet you can't even see me through the haze... I meant after giving birth, darling."

"She was magnificent," the Doctor chimed in, "no complications at all, strong and stoic to the finish."

"I hardly felt anything, in other words."

"Lucky you. You know, you put me through twenty nine hours of painful labour. Could've used some of these future technologies and pain meds back then, let me tell you…"

The Doctor eyed her up appraisingly with a gleam as he placed his hand over hers on the baby and grinned. "If you ever need such services again, I'll arrange it for you, Jackie."

"Me?" Jackie snorted. "Ha! Likely story!"

"Sometimes 'impossible' isn't what it seems," the Doctor murmured, kissing Rose's forehead before returning his gaze to the baby.

"He's awfully tiny though," Jackie commented after a minute, "he looks like a premie. Suppose that little skull made things a bit easier on ya."

"Small but strong like a horse," the Doctor enthused. "Wait, not a horse. My beautiful son is nothing like a horse. Strong like a…" He frowned and then burst into a smile. "Strong like a TARDIS!"

There was a hum of approval from the corner of the room.

"Has he got a name, then?"

Rose looked at her husband. "Yeah. I think so." He met her eye with an encouraging nod. "Mum, I'm pleased to introduce you to Thomas."

The Doctor wrapped up the Next of the Time Lords tightly into a receiving blanket and passed him carefully over to Jackie. It hurt to relinquish him into eager arms, but the look on Jackie's face as she cooed at the infant made it all worth it. With a soft sigh that mirrored hers, the Doctor adjusted her blankets and took her hand.

"That's lovely… Hello, Thomas! Hello! Oh, you're lovely, you are… Look at that teensy little nose and those teensy little fingers and yes, you're the sweetest little baby that's ever breathed…"

"Did you see his wee little toes?" the Doctor added in the same tone of marvel.

"No, I haven't seen your wee little toes," Jackie fussed at the baby, "because your daddy wrapped you up so snug… But I'll see them soon! Yes I will!"

"He's a little baby burrito!" He stroked Rose's cheek. "And I could eat him right up…"

"Dibs on his tiny little fingers: those are all mine to snack on. Mother's privilege," Rose sang out.

"Fine, but those succulent baby toes have my name on them."

"Speaking of names, is it just Thomas or does he have a second name?" Jackie finally tore her eyes away from the baby but made no move to surrender her prize.

The Doctor smiled and carefully nudged Rose over in the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him and draping his arm around her shoulders. "He has a beautiful second name. I can't tell it to you, but Rose can, if she wants."

Rose's eyes widened and she gingerly shifted her hips to face him. "Really? I thought…"

"Mother-child bonds conquer most rules and you and your mum are no exception. There are so many types of love and trust but _agape_ , selfless love, trumps all. You can tell her Thomas's other name but she's the only one. Apart from me, of course, but since I named him, it's a moot point. Otherwise, it's his and his alone to protect."

The omnipresent tears had returned when she nodded and gestured to her mother to come closer. With one hand on Thomas's chest and the other on her mother's arm, she whispered a single syllable in her mum's ear.

Jackie pulled back with a gasp and tears streaming down her cheeks. "That…"

"It’s the happiest, lightest, most beloved feeling in the world, isn't it?" Rose whispered.

His name was shorter than his father's and it spoke only of glorious hope, of unlimited possibilities, of a single note warbling in the silence and filling the empty night. It was scarlet with golden tendrils, it was redolent with time, and it beat in endless 2:1 song.

"It's him, isn't it?"

"Yeah. His name is all he is, how he came to be, and all we could ever wish him to become. It'll change with age and experience but the underlying notes and rhythm are fixed. He's magnificent isn't he?"

"Oh, love…"

"I know…"

After several minutes of Jackie murmuring adoring nonsense at the baby, the Doctor stood up and moved to his son's side. "Alright, Grandma. Visiting time's over. They both need to rest."

"Should I send the Godfathers in? And Martha's gagging for a glimpse…"

The Doctor glanced at his wife. "What do you think? Five more minutes or shall I bring the TARDIS out to the waiting room and let them catch some shuteye while you do?"

"I feel fine, actually. Is he still asleep?"

The Doctor nudged aside the receiving blanket to check. "Yep, eyes closed. Jackie, why don't you hand him over—" She clutched him closer and kissed his cheek before reluctantly passing him back to his father, "—thank you, and gather the mob." He paused, considering. "Tell them they have to keep quiet though. No talking. And no squealing from Jack!"

"Doctor…" Rose scolded.

"Well, he's sleeping!"

"With you as a father, he's going to have to get used to a constant stream of chatter," Rose laughed and held her arms out for the baby,

"Still…" the Doctor pouted and fussed with the blanket, making sure every finger and every toe was snuggly warm.

"Mum, tell them they can come in, yeah? And feel free to mention that squeals of delight are not only welcomed but encouraged." Jackie nodded and left and Rose held out her hands again, wiggling her fingers to capture her husband's attention. "How could they not? He's the pinnacle of perfection."

The Doctor inhaled his son's intoxicating scalp one more time and gently arranged him in his wife's arms.

"Pinnacle of perfection indeed. You'll have to stop with you brilliant alliteration if you don't want them all to walk in on me snogging the saliva out of you, though."

She scrunched up her nose. "Lovely image there, Doctor."

When the rest of the Doctor's new family piled in a minute later, the newest member was sandwiched between his besotted parents, blinking up at their soft kiss.

\---

At one month and three hours old, baby Thomas has a father who wonders if all parents invent nonsense songs about their newborn and sing them aloud wherever they go, not caring in the very least who overhears. He wonders whether other fathers perceive an unceasing waltz in the back of their heads at all hours of the day. _Rose; Thomas; Rose; Thomas_. He wonders if there could be any three syllables more beautiful in time or space. Those other three syllables, the ones he'd held onto so tightly until the moment he uttered them as naturally as if he'd been ordering tea, they're suddenly not enough to convey the feeling in his hearts when his realised-dreams smile, when their eyes light up, when they grab onto his finger or to his hand with all the trust in the world.

So he takes to painting, failing to ever fully capture their beauty but giving him a brilliant excuse to stare at them for hours.

(He doesn't bother with an excuse the rest of the time)

Sometimes he sends a stubborn Rose off to the anti-time room the TARDIS built next to the nursery and spends the five minutes it takes her to catch up on eight hours sleep imagining her face as she watches Thomas nurse at her chest, sure he can get it right on canvas this time. He never does and she's a thousand times more beautiful than his paint strokes when she returns.

He sketches his son's peaceful breathing in their cottage garden, the way his lips press together when he sleeps, the reflexive curling and uncurling of his toes.

(He tries drawing still-life and he can't; his son's life is no more still than is the universe)

Is this the slow path? Because it's not slow in the least: everything happens so quickly and all at once that there's never enough time to fully appreciate each of his son's eyelashes or to calculate equations describing his blond curls' spirals. Every day, every minute he learns something new and his helpless newborn is transformed millisecond by unforgiving millisecond into his own entity, an individual separate from himself and Rose. He wants to pause his sweet little baby's growth but can't decide on when: with every passing second the Time Tot exponentially outshines his previous second.

There's never enough time, but in every second lies an eternity.

\---

At four years, two months, and six days old, Thomas scowled at the empty bookshelf and looked back beseechingly at his father, currently marooned in a sea of half-read books.

“There are no more books! I think…I think we should go buy more.” He toddled over to where the Doctor was already on his knees, ready to stand up and give his son everything he could possibly want in the world.

“Tell you what,” Rose intervened from the corner where she was watched her boys with a soft smile and a high definition video camera, “how about Daddy tells you one of _his_ stories?”

His chocolate-brown eyes lit up. "Yes!" Without looking behind him to ensure someone was ready to catch him, he turned around and flopped backwards onto the floor.

Someone always caught him.

The Doctor pulled him tighter into his lap, wrapping his arm around the still rotund little tummy, and bent his lips down to his head.

"An infinite number of points upon a time ago, excluding fixed points and personal timelines of course, there lived a beautiful girl, pink and golden and radiant. Resplendent, some called her. One day, she met a boy and together they ran into the night. He saved her life, but she saved him so many more times and in so many different ways. And one day they began running backward, because sometimes the only way to move forward is to--"

“No no no! Not _that_ one!” Thomas screeched, bursting into toddler-patented sobs.

“Thomas, tell us how you feel in polite-boy words, don’t just scream,” Rose interjected patiently.

The toddler sighed and plastered a big, fake smile across his face. “Please, Daddy, can you tell Tommy about the ‘sorbaloft?”

"But this one’s my favorite..." the Doctor protested, glancing over at his wife with a wink.

“No, no, I don’t want that one," Thomas enunciated carefully in his baby voice, "it makes me feel bored. I want to hear about the ‘sorbaloft. Please," he added as an afterthought when both his parents raised their eyebrows expectantly.

The Doctor kissed his son’s blond ringlets again and pretended to nibble on his ear in frustration. He shrieked and batted his father away in a fit of giggles.

“Anything for my little Muppet.”

"But absolutely not the raunchy joke at the end," Rose cut in, knowing full well they were only half-attending to her presence. Thomas was most definitely his father’s son, distractedly curious and with a knack for trouble, too busy to ever stand still, although like his father he always came running to her for comfort or calming hugs when he eventually became over-stimulated. "And really, you're just making up endings... We went to Ursula and Elton's wedding last week."

"But Roooose, it's much more fun when she's just a face in a cement block…"

Thomas shivered with gleeful anticipation. “Start, Daddy, start!”

"Your wish is always my command, my precious boy, my glorious hour. But I have to finish my story, you know. Can't have unfinished endings."

"Fine, and then maybe you’ll tell Tommy _two_ stories," he wheedled.

“No, just the one. It’s bedtime and you’ve already eked out—”

“Okay, maybe _three_ stories.” Thomas nodded conciliatorily, as if the matter had been decided.

“Done. But only because you’re so brilliant at negotiating." He glanced up at Rose, who was rolling her eyes playfully. "He's the most amazing being in the entire multiverse, Rose. What are you going to do?" She nodded with a smile of agreement and turned off the camera, walking over to ruffle her boys' wild hair.

"Okay, Daddy: let's hear the end of the story so we can get a move on getting this little monkey into bed. As usual, it's hours past his bedtime."

"That's true. And we're going crystal bowling on Whartium 52 tomorrow!"

Rose and Thomas groaned in unison. "Not again, Doctor. Even Thomas can bowl a perfect 300 by now… "

"Yes, but maybe tomorrow we take off the bumpers!" He turned an appraising eye at his son who was distractedly toying with his pinstriped pajama bottoms. "Maybe. We'll see. I’ll need to check on their first aid situation."

"Don't listen to him, Tom-Tom. We're going to the moon beds of Kaloon tomorrow: they're like giant trampolines!"

"Rose! What if he…oh, I suppose it's pretty hard to get hurt in low gravity… Fine. As always, your wish is also my command."

Thomas snuggled into his father’s arms, satisfied, and Rose curled up next to the pair. The Doctor wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Ready for the end of my story?"

Rose took his hand and squeezed.

"Tommy's ready, Daddy," Thomas murmured, his eyelids drooping. His mother brushed back some of the long tendrils from in front of his eyes and planted her hand over his father’s on his stomach. The Doctor turned to Rose and kissed her cheek.

"And they lived happily ever after."

 

* * *

_Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!_

_Throughout the sensual world proclaim,_

_One crowded hour of glorious life_

_Is worth an age without a name._

\- Thomas Osbert Mordaunt


End file.
